Always All For You
by TempeJill
Summary: Following the season 6 finale, Booth and Brennan face a surprising case that puts them in greater danger than ever before, while they try to deal with what the changes in their lives mean; as friends, partners, and something more.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here we are, with yet another story! I couldn't not do something to reflect on the finale, and this is what I've come up with. No idea where it will lead me, but I've got an outline in the works and I like where it's heading. Title comes from the song What If by SafetySuit, my favorite song of all time. I've been dying to use it in a story, and it fit here.**

**I don't own them, unfortunately. Enjoy the story :D**

**This first chapter is just before the finale begins, the next chapter will be the finale events, and after that... it will take its own course. I'm just guessing at the dates, haha.**

**IMPORTANT: This story IS somewhat AU. For my own purposes, I am disregarding a lot of the things that pushed BxB forward following the departure of Hannah. The elevator scene plays in somewhat, but there was no burning of papers with dates on them, and both of them are still in the dark on how the other is feeling. Beyond that, though, everything is pretty much canon.  
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_Chapter 1_

_May 25__th__, 2011_

The water dripped steadily, a soft plunking only feet away as the droplets sloshed down one at a time and spattered onto the cold porcelain of the sink below. Dr. Temperance Brennan, renowned forensic anthropologist, was clinging to the edge of reality, her palms flat on the counter as she stared at her reflection in the mirror and tried to recognize herself in it.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The faucet wasn't fully turned off, but she made no move to twist the handle the final few millimeters that would stop the incessant noise.

It was almost grounding, the regular plunking. Like a metronome sitting on top of a piano, keeping her in the beat and allowing her to slowly close her eyes and stay right where she was. She could picture the apartment around her, but somehow it felt like she was still floating through it, rather than living there.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Her intern was dead.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The bullet that had slammed through his delicate heart had been sent to kill her partner. She had crouched over him, Booth at her side, as he had begged her not to make him go.

_Why would I make you go? Why would I do that?_

She was glad, and she was sick with guilt for it.

Because Booth had been the target. And Booth was alive.

Because Booth was still here with her, to smile with, to love in silence, and she had not been forced to watch him die in front of her yet again while she desperately tried to stem the flow of blood rushing from his chest.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

She knew random facts, too. Some of them, Nigel had given to her. Some of them, she had known from her past experience. The difference was that she didn't announce them unless they were relevant to what was being discussed at that moment.

But Vincent Nigel-Murray had been so upfront with his knowledge. So unashamed, so eager to share, so excited for the job at hand. He was brilliant and promising, and he was going places. He should have gone places.

She thought back to the letters of recommendation she had in her desk, for each of her interns. They wouldn't be around much longer, and at Angela's suggestion she had written one for each a month ago. Only a week before the shooting.

_Nigel-Murray is a brilliant student and an able scientist. He will do any institution proud, and I say with great certainty that he deserves any position he strives to attain._

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

_Please don't make me go..._

She blinked, and met her own gaze in the mirror. It was cold, and dark, and filled with desperation. Her blue eyes flashed, and they were icy in contrast with her pale skin. A slight sheen of sweat gleamed on her brow.

Fingers trembling, she set down the test on the counter beside the other three.

All of them read positive.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

She seized the faucet and forcibly spun it. Her wrist ached and her fingers grazed sharply across the surface. She winced and pulled back, but the dripping stopped.

Turning, she slid down the side of the cabinets until she thumped down onto the floor, her elbows landing on her knees and her face burying itself in her hands.

Oh god. _Oh_ _god_.

What was she supposed to _do?_

_"I'm not going to have any children."_

Positive. They had all said _positive._

She had wanted a child, later. A fleeting, powerful surge of emotion had taken over and made her desire parenthood. But that had faded into other, more important things, and she had never brought it up again.

Brennan could hardly get herself to think it, but the words came anyways, flitting across her mind. _I'm pregnant. I'm actually pregnant._

How was she supposed to handle this? How was she supposed to tell Booth?

Because she had to tell him.

She didn't exactly sleep with many men. Not recently, at least. Booth was the only man she'd had sex with since breaking up with Hacker before leaving for Maluku. She handled celibacy better than Angela ever had, and more quietly as well. But it made this easier, because there was no doubt.

Booth was the father of the child that was beginning to grow inside of her.

Almost subconsciously, her hand strayed down to land on her abdomen. Her stomach was still flat; it had only been a few weeks. But she knew that wouldn't last forever. Her hard, powerful body was going to get softer, and heavier. In her head, she ran through all of the changes that she knew to expect, and tried desperately to keep them cold and rational. It was almost terrifying, just allowing herself to connect the facts with her own life.

Her clothing was not going to fit anymore. Her field work was going to go away, because it would be too difficult, not to mention too dangerous. She was going to feel nauseous and probably throw up at irregular hours of the day. She was going to become hyper-sensitive to scents, making her job with rotting skeletons nearly impossible. Her ankles were going to swell.

And everyone... they were going to treat her differently. Not because of any stigmatism—her friends would not care so much that she was having a child out of wedlock—but because they would be worried, the way they were worried about Angela.

Booth, Angela, Cam... they were the ones who would block her from her career. Booth would insist on protecting her, Angela would offer all sorts of advice, Cam would cut her off professionally—and not in a way she could get out of with one of her monopoly-passes.

She was in love with Booth.

That was one of the things she could not deny any longer.

She had stopped denying it to herself after the Lauren Eames case, after seeing Booth with Hannah. She had turned Booth down that night outside the Hoover building because she needed to protect him. She was not the sort of person he deserved to be with; he deserved someone that could be sure of the relationship, who wouldn't spend all of their time together terrified of it going wrong. Who wouldn't destroy it all with a few thoughtless words. Who wouldn't eventually make him hate her, and thereby crush both of their hearts.

So maybe it had been selfish. Maybe she had been protecting her own heart just as much as his. But the fact remained that now... now she wanted to throw all of that out and start fresh. She wanted him, no matter the consequences. She wanted the guy hugs and the long looks and feeling of waking up in his arms in the morning, without any of the fear attached.

That night, after Nigel-Murray was shot and killed right in front of her, when she had gone into Booth's bedroom and found herself confronted with a gun... everything had changed. She had told him her fears, and he had comforted her in a way that no one ever had before. Never after such a tragedy had she had a man to hold onto, who she could trust implicitly. She had always been alone, even when other people had been by her side. After he was shot by Pam, Angela had been with her, sure. But she had still felt empty and cold.

With Booth there, his dark eyes soft with reassurance and his strong arms wrapped around her, she had felt... loved. Like nothing could hurt her again, like she had someone to soldier through the next battle with, like... just for a little while, she could forget her fears and cling to her hopes.

With Booth, she had felt everything she had been trying to fight down over the years.

And somehow, it had felt right, when they had fallen into the sheets. Despite the trauma of the day, despite the horrifying loss, despite _everything_, she had managed to live for those minutes that they were surrounded solely by each other, and nothing else.

It had not been what she had always thought it would be—and she had thought of it often. Of course, she had never imagined such horrible circumstances leading them to that point. When she had thought of them together, she had always imagined that... something would change. Some case would get the better of them, would make them realize things.

Right now, she wasn't sure how she felt about her decision to press her lips to his and initiate the events that followed. Because she wasn't sure of how he had felt about it, or how he thought about it now, weeks later.

They had not talked about it, the day after.

Namely because she had been gone when he had woken up the next morning. She had opened her eyes to find herself in his bed, sans clothing, with his warm thick arms wrapped around her torso and his body melded perfectly to hers.

Heart thudding, brain rushing, she had done the only things possible. She had extricated herself from the embrace, gathered her clothing and the things she had brought with her for the night... and shut the door very quietly behind her on her way out of the apartment.

She wasn't proud of that decision. Wasn't proud that she had chosen to run rather than face the consequences.

But a part of her was still deathly afraid. Afraid that it hadn't meant to him... what it had meant to her. Nigel-Murray was dead, and they were having sex for the first time.

She closed her eyes again, running her hands through her hair.

He had felt her pain that night, and he had followed her lead. She was the one who had kissed him first. She was the one had begun undressing him, and who had helped him undress herself. He had been very _there_, and he had made it every bit what she had always thought it would be from the way he spoke... but it still felt like she had been the one whose _fault_ it was.

And she did not want to know the truth, if it meant that Booth had slept with her out of pity, out of concern for her well-being.

He was the sort of man who wouldn't tell her the truth, were she to ask... because he was too kind, too _good_, to say it if that was how he really had felt about it... but she would know. The minute she asked, no matter what he had to say, she would _know_. Because she knew him. And she knew how he would react if he was being honest or if he was trying to spare her feelings.

And he was the sort of man who would do the right thing by her, once she told him she was pregnant.

He would want to be in the child's life, and he would want to be involved in every aspect of the pregnancy. He might even be glad, because he loved children and he loved being a father; it wasn't something he had ever been shy about. But the fact remained that none of that meant anything.

She loved him. Loved him so much that she couldn't think straight. Loved him more than she'd ever thought it was possible to love anyone. Because until him... she never truly had.

And it would kill her, if he could no longer feel that way about her. He had once, a year ago, and maybe before that as well, when she hadn't been looking for it. But you could fall out of love with someone, and you could fall into it with someone else. She had watched him do it, right in front of her, and the idea of it happening again... was crushing.

Then, almost worse than that, was the reality of what this knowledge would do to him, once she announced it. Yes, he would stand by her and be the father. But what would that do to him, if he really _didn't_ love her anymore? She would be ruining all of his chances, and his entire future.

What if she did what Rebecca had done, then? What if she refused to be in a relationship with him, and kept the child? Would that give him the chance to escape? Would that leave him free to move on, the way it had when Rebecca had carried it out?

Or would he hate her, even if she allowed him to see their child whenever he pleased?

And what if he loved the child more than her? What if he wanted to be with the child, but not with her? How could she justify keeping the child to herself, when she knew she wasn't likely to make a good parent to begin with? He was a good parent. He would know what he was doing, while she would be at a loss.

A desperation grew in her, and she needed to talk to someone. She needed Angela to know, she needed to hear Angela's take on this. Because Angela could help her, could tell her that it was going to be alright, could make it just... better. Because that was what her best friend did.

Only Angela was pregnant herself. She was about to give birth to a beautiful child with her loving husband right by her side. Angela had no doubts about family. For her, it was a guarantee. No matter what happened with the child, if it was blind or not, it would be loved. And she and Hodgins would raise it together, knowing they could rely on one another through anything that came their way.

She did not have that luxury. She did not want to be Booth's obligation; she wanted to be his equal, the way Angela was with Hodgins, and vice versa.

Only she couldn't have that.

She tried to imagine what it would have been like, if only she had said yes when he had asked for a relationship. Would it have worked? Would they have been happy by now, and maybe even at the same stage as Angela and Hodgins? Would she be pregnant, in this parallel world, and maybe even married?

What would it be like, to go home every day with Booth, and spend late nights watching TV or doing the dishes after supper by his side? What would it be like to have that world in the palm of her hand?

She was not usually the type to indulge in such fantasies, but she couldn't help herself now. It might be pointless, to imagine something that hadn't happened, but she couldn't stop. She was a scientist, and a stubborn one. She had always said that she wouldn't have kids, that she would never get married, that she would never fall in love.

Her world was upside-down, now.

And she had a feeling it wasn't going to right itself in three days.

Not this time.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Dawn slowly flitted its way through her curtains, and she blinked in the slivers of light that fell long across her bed.

Some facts are all consuming. Her pregnancy was one of them; there was no moment of escape. It was the first thought on her mind that morning as she pushed herself up and leaned back against the headboard to breathe out a heavy sigh. Her arms fell across her abdomen, cradling from both sides, and she chewed on the edge of her lip, staring up at the ceiling and watching the patterns of shadows dance. The tree outside her apartment window was in bloom with full spring-vigor, and the leaves swayed in the early morning light, mingling with the light patches that reflected off the water from the pool down below.

She reached up and pulled her hair out of the messy bun she had put it in the night before, letting her tresses collapse down over her shoulders. Maybe she should get a haircut. Everything else was changing... and a short, shoulder-length style might be easier to manage.

Again, she tried to imagine what it was going to be like, only a few months from now.

Would she be doing this alone? Leaning over the toilet in a few weeks and retching because her perfume suddenly smelled nauseating? Or would Booth be there, by her side, offering to hold her hair even as she cursed him out under the hormones?

She shivered and pulled the covers up more tightly around herself, despite the already warm nature of the morning. They were more for security than for warmth, to begin with.

According to her alarm clock, she had only a short while before she would be ensuring a late arrival at the lab. As it was, she was going to be rushing already—in the overwhelming exhaustion of her realization the day before, she had managed to forget to turn on her alarm.

And yet, she was unfazed. Normally, she would be panicked and running around swearing under her breath while she fought with her socks and the malfunctioning shower that the building manager had been promising to fix for the past month. She might have asked Booth to fix it, but now that was definitely not going to happen. She didn't even know how she was going to _face_ him, knowing what she knew.

It only aided her in procrastinating as she watched the clock tick yet another minute past. Absently, her fingers twisted the bedding back and forth in their grasp as she debated. She hadn't stalled like this in years. Even as a teenager, school had been a welcome escape. She had often been up extra early in preparation, desperate to get out of whatever house she happened to be living in at the time. Usually for a variety of different reasons, but namely fear.

This time, it was fear that held her in place.

Here, in her apartment, she was safe. She didn't have to face the world, didn't have to fully face the truth. She could hide here forever, if only no one would come searching for her.

Only, she knew they would. And she couldn't keep this to herself forever, as much as she wished she could. She was going to have to tell Booth eventually, because he deserved to know. And he deserved to have his say in this.

No matter how scared she was of what his response would be.

There was still a small, irrational part of her that was terrified he would turn away. She knew, _knew_, that he would never do that. But the fear was there. And fear, in her experience, was rarely rational.

He had said he didn't want anything, after he broke up with Hannah.

Hannah, who had turned him down when he proposed to her, leading him to end things.

Just like he had moved on from her after she had refused a relationship, he had moved on from Hannah.

She didn't want to do that again. But at the same time... what was she supposed to do if he proposed, as he had done with Rebecca?

Surely, though, he wouldn't try that. Not with _her_, not years after that first failure. He would know that it would not end well, no matter what answer she wanted to give. As she had told her distant cousin that year at Christmas... she had simply never found a reason to get married. Or a man, for that matter.

Now she had every reason, and she had the man she wanted to be with right in front of her. But if he proposed... she would turn him down. Not because she didn't want to marry him, and not because she didn't believe in marriage—that ship had sailed through storm after storm and finally capsized—but because it wouldn't be fair. She wanted to be with him. She didn't want him to feel like he _had_ to do anything. Least of all marry her if he didn't feel anything.

She would rather lose him than force him to be with her if it would make him unhappy.

That thought weighed heavily on her chest, and she shut her eyes again.

Her phone, standing in for her alarm, went off loudly on the bedside table. She jumped, and then dropped the sheets from around herself and leaned over to snatch it up. Her heart rate only quickened when she read his name on the screen.

_Booth calling_.

She swallowed harshly and let her hand, still clutching the phone, fall heavily down into her lap as it continued to ring. The sharp sound was ceaseless, and she struggled with herself as she tried to decide whether she was capable of answering, or if she should send him to voicemail. Maybe if she just let it keep ringing...

But when it finally stopped, the silence only lasted a few short, blissful moments. And then it started up again.

He would know something was up if she didn't answer, and even more so if she sent him to her voicemail. Then he would ask about it later, and she'd be no better equipped to answer than she was at this moment. It would be easier to do this now, when she didn't have to look him in the eyes.

Was it lying, if it was by omission? She remembered saying something about that herself, not to long ago. That he had lied to her by not telling her something.

She had never been a very good liar, and she had never been a very good actress.

Booth would see through her in an instant.

But the other options just looked worse, and she finally answered and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Brennan."

"Hey," he answered immediately, sounding flustered. "Why weren't you picking up?"

"Sorry. I left my phone in the other room... I was getting some coffee."

"Well, we've got a body. Forget the coffee, I already got you some. I'll be by in a minute to pick you up."

"Oh," she said, her voice coming in a gasp as she again took in her current state. Sitting up in a tangled bed, wearing pajamas. Un-showered. She swallowed sharply. "That's okay. I'll drive myself. Where is it?"

"Bones," he said firmly, "I'm like... five minutes from your place. So don't give me something about saving gas, okay? I'll be there in a few."

He hung up without waiting for an answer, probably assuming she'd try arguing if he stayed on, and she groaned and leaned her head back again, thudding lightly into the headboard. Without much of a choice, she scrambled out of bed and tossed together an outfit before making a bee-line for the bathroom to fight it out with her hair. 'A few minutes' did not give her time to shower, unfortunately. And he'd know something was up if he caught her still blow-drying her hair when she had implied she was already finishing her morning routine.

On that train of thought, she quickly swept the collection of pregnancy tests into the trash can and tucked it back under the sink, where he would have no reason to look. She didn't need them anymore; she had accepted that it was true, and that they couldn't all be false-positive.

A knock on her door announced her partner's arrival, and she took a steadying breath, finishing with the ponytail she had been putting in, and leaned forward with her palms flat on the counter, much like she had yesterday. The eyes that stared back at her in the mirror were still icy and fearful, but now they sparked with a bit more resistance.

_Just answer the door_, she told herself. _Just answer the door, and act normal... and solve another murder. Worry about everything else... later_.

Nodding resolutely to her own reflection, she stepped out of the bathroom and flicked the lights off, heading up the hallway as he knocked again.

He was clutching two coffee cups and grinning cheerfully when she opened the door.

"Ready for the bowling alley, Bones?"

**Well, drop me a line! Let me know what you think so far!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here is the second chapter! This one covers the finale pretty thoroughly. You don't want to know how long I spent getting the quotes from the episode correct. I found this necessary, despite the fact that it may seem repetetive. Throughout the episode, Brennan is struggling with how to tell him, and I wanted to express this before moving on with the plot. **

**And on that subject, this story does indeed have a plot. I spent a good portion of the past week planning it out, and it will be a case-fic with a great deal of personal angst tied in. Murder, mystery, and danger... just what I love to write, haha. I hope you will enjoy reading it just as much. **

**I can't promise regular updates, because I am not ahead in my writing, but I will try very hard to give you all one chapter every Thursday, hoping to fill some of the void where Bones should be. With any luck (and some planning on my part) this story will be able to last it's way through the summer months until the hiatus is over. No promises, though. I still don't know how long it will work out to be, once it's typed. **

**Still don't own them. Enjoy the chapter!**

_Chapter 2_

_May 26__th__, 2011_

"Angela says she's going to have her baby today," Brennan commented as they walked up the lane. She pulled her gloves on, eyeing the pieces of human that awaited them among the pins at the end. She had never bowled very much, and yet it felt odd to be walking on the lanes. A taboo, almost, and she could feel an anthropological connection that she decided against explaining to Booth. It sounded, even in her head, too much like fact-giving. And it was still too soon after Nigel-Murray's loss to open those wounds.

"She's been saying that every day for two weeks," Booth pointed out.

"Well, mathematically speaking, the chances of her being right increase every day," she half-murmured, stepping forward with quicker strides to get to the body. She crouched down, and pushed away thoughts of Angela's impending delivery. There were also plenty of statistics that explained how things could go horribly wrong in child-birth, not to mention the already present fears among the team for the child's eyesight.

Murder needed to be her focus right now, and solving this case. Whoever this was, they deserved a name and they deserved justice. No matter how distracting her personal life was.

The victim's sex came quickly, despite the dismembered and gooey state of the remains, and she announced that he was a male.

Out back, climbing among the pin-setters, she kept her focus on explaining what happened to the man, not on Booth's proximity. A part of her still desperately wanted to just announce it to him, and get it out there. Every minute in his presence that was spent with her knowing and him completely out of the loop... was killing her.

It was like she was suffocating.

She wished he would stop looking at her, or talking to her, or interacting with her in any capacity. It would make her feel a lot more relaxed, in fact, if she wasn't near him at all right now.

Thankfully, they split up after the FBI squad came in to package things up for the Jeffersonian, with Booth returning to follow up on things at the Hoover, and her going back to the lab.

And then, as if fate really had it out for her, the next call he placed to her told her that she was going to have to interact with not only him... but also her father. The two people most likely to see something wrong with her. That, and the very last person she wanted to tell of her pregnancy happened to be her father. She knew he had no say in her life, and that he seemed to approve of Booth on some level... but still, she didn't want him to know.

Not yet.

When Angela called, her nerves got the best of her. She was already on edge about being pregnant herself, and having her overly-pregnant friend calling had her thoughts very far off of the murder case that she was trying to distract herself with... and very much attached to the personal life she was trying to escape from.

But when they began to speak of ways to hasten labor, and her fears came very near to bubbling over, she cut herself off, thankful that she had actually arrived at the Diner so she wouldn't have to add Angela to the list of people she was lying to.

Although, by not telling her, she was lying by omission as well, wasn't she?

Either way, she ended the call far more quickly than she would have liked, knowing that the longer she interacted... the more likely she would be to tell Angela everything in one breath and beg her for advice.

_Angela is pregnant. She has her own concerns. She doesn't need yours as well_, she reminded herself.

Max being in a wheelchair had _not_ been on her list of concerns, but it certainly took the lead the moment her eyes landed on him. And good old Max brushed it off as nothing. Trust him to kill people for merely threatening her, but then not think she'd be worried when he showed up severely injured in some way she couldn't yet assess.

She knew he was getting older, but this... was not expected.

And not okay.

Her guilt over not wanting to tell him instantly doubled.

Which was the only reason she stayed resolutely silent when her father admitted that he had been sleeping with a woman _her_ age. She would never have said it, even in the protests she wanted to voice, but the very idea just... bothered her. She suspected it would have bothered Booth as well, if he was in her shoes.

"Alright, we'll just talk to everyone he bowled against," Booth was saying when she tuned back into the conversation.

"No, no, no, no, no..." Max interrupted as Booth started to stand up. "Here's the thing. It's a tournament. And you're not going to get these people to talk to you if it's only gonna lead to more questions."

"But the first forty-eight hours of a murder investigation are crucial," Brennan pointed out, frowning in frustration. Her father was telling them that they weren't going to be able to get any answers, and she didn't like the sound of that.

"Yeah," Booth murmured in agreement.

"Well, you're a bowler aren't you?" Max asked, gesturing to Booth. She was lost at once, but Booth was nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah, I bowl; high two-eighties."

Max made a sound, and Brennan glanced between them, confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means he's good." He leaned forward. "So why not go in undercover? Come on, you could take my place with the Thunderballs."

At once, Brennan's interest was peaked. But her natural response came first. "But you just said they won't talk."

"Yeah, but they love to gossip," Max insisted. "I mean, what do you think bowlers are doing when they're not actually _bowling?"_

"Ah, I get it... get 'em to say something... during the tournament... I'm liking this."

"I love undercover," she said at once, feeling that she needed her opinion to be heard. This was what she needed, right here. How better to find out Booth's opinion, then while they were in character? Then... she could decide how to tell him the truth. "What'll I be?"

"You can be... my girlfriend," Booth said, turning to grin in her direction. She couldn't help but return the expression, feeling a warmth spread through her.

"Fine," she said quickly, beaming back at him. He was making it easy for her, but she hadn't expected anything else. They always went undercover as a couple. "Um, but if Angela goes into labor, we have to pick a fight so that I can be there to catch the baby."

"I will get you there," Booth said eagerly, the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes crinkled up and his brown gaze sparkling. "Hell or high water!"

Max was looking at them strangely, and she felt her stomach clench uncomfortably. He saw something. Suspected something.

"What?" Booth asked, sensing Max's unasked question hanging in the air.

"I don't know... something's weird here. You're-you're almost... polite to each other. What is it? You're having a fight?"

"No," Brennan said quickly, "I just... really, really want to be there when Angela's baby is born."

"Right," Booth cut in, rescuing her before Max could figure it out. Not that Booth knew the favor he was pulling. All he knew was that he wanted them out of there and moving forward with the case. And she had to say that she felt the same, albeit with a bit more urgency involved. "So, how soon before I become a _Thunderball?_"

Max raised his eyebrows, but he still looked suspicious as the waitress came by to give them their check.

Booth got up to sort out an issue with the check—clearly deciding that he was the one paying despite her start of an objection—and she was left alone with her father.

"What's going on there?" he asked, leaning forward with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Nothing," she said firmly. And it wasn't a lie. There really wasn't anything happening between them. Her heart panged at the reminder.

"No... no, Tempe, I can see when something's changed, and _that_... that was change, right there. I know, I know... I don't see you as often as I'd like, and I'm not always in the loop..."

"Clearly you're keeping busy," she commented with a raised eyebrow, her eyes dropping to the wheelchair again.

"You'd like her," he said insistently. "I should introduce you."

"Dad, _I'm _thirty-four."

He opened his mouth and then shut it again, not coming up with a response.

"I'm sorry if it bothers you," he said at last. She almost rolled her eyes in disbelief, but then Booth had returned, and he helped her to her feet before leading the way out with a hasty goodbye tossed over the shoulder to Max.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

She would have preferred going as Tony and Roxie, but she did have to admit that Buck and Wanda seemed to fit these rolls more suitably. And she had no complaints about holding onto Booth's arm as they walked into the bowling alley.

And then there was the large ring sitting on her finger.

Her idea, but still... Booth's enthusiasm hadn't hurt. He seemed more than happy to switch their undercover identities from merely dating to engaged.

For the most part, it went smoothly. They got into the groove of the team, she began to understand their team and their opponents, and she got to admire Booth's rather impressive skills. He had never talked much about bowling with her before, but it was clear he had a passion for it. She wondered if it was one of those things that Pops had gotten him into. It seemed like it would be.

The last time they'd been to a bowling alley, they hadn't gotten a chance to get invested like this. They had been busy busting the owner for abusing his wife and killing a teenage boy. Then, she hadn't liked the view she had been given.

In this light, though, she saw what drew Booth in. The success, the skill, the excitement, the teamwork that inspired a sense of camaraderie and competition... it was all fascinating.

But beyond cheering him on, she didn't get much chance to talk to him. Everyone else was around, and the two of them were forced to separately, silently, carry out their own observations, looking for any indications of motive or suspects.

At Max's insistence that they act more like a couple—and his words reminded her of something Angela would probably have said, were she there—she saw a look cross Booth's face, though. And it made up for not getting the chance to talk to him, because he motioned for her to come closer, and she gladly accepted the kiss on her cheek.

She was left wondering, though, if he felt in-character, or if he was doing what he was doing... for other reasons. The way she was.

As she was heading back from her conversation with Hercules, her phone rang.

_Angela calling._

"Ange?" she answered, her voice going up in pitch without her consent.

"Hodgins, it's Hodgins," the entomologist's nearly hysterical voice informed her. "She told me to call you, I'm parking the car... damn it! There are no _damn_ spaces..."

"It's happening?" Brennan asked, shock seeping in. It was one thing to be waiting for it. It was another for it to actually occur. A million worries suddenly crashed over her, and she thought of all the things she hadn't gotten a chance to tell her friend. Last minute advice, reassurances... and what about their friendship? Had she ever told Angela how much she meant to her, how much she had changed her life?

Her best friend didn't even know that she was pregnant.

"Yes, _yes_, it's happening!" Hodgins shouted. She heard a horn blare. "She wanted you to know, but not to come... it could still be awhile, but she insisted that you be told right away... move your ass, jerk!"

The horn blared again.

"Tell her that... that I love her, and we'll be there as soon as we can be. We won't miss it, I promise. Just... make sure she knows that. Please."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll tell her." A door slammed, and it was clear he'd finally found a spot. "We'll talk to you in a bit; they're still working on the case over at the lab. I'm heading in."

The line went dead without a farewell, but she wasn't bothered. Hodgins was clearly in the state of panic that Angela had told her he was going to get himself into the moment it happened. Angela was rarely wrong, and it appeared she'd been spot-on this time around.

"They're at the hospital," she informed Booth in a low murmur as she took her seat back next to him. His eyebrows shot up.

"Whoa, so it's actually... _now?"_

"Yes," she said heavily, her eyes roving across the bowling alley. "We need to solve this," she said with a sigh.

"We will, don't worry. We've got it all under control, Wanda."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

As the day went on, it became harder to keep herself in the crime-solving mode. Between her fears for Angela, who was now beginning labor, and her own pregnancy... paying attention was becoming near impossible.

And Amber wasn't helping matters.

She had never been the type to believe in such things, but for some reason... she thought she was going to have a daughter. It was completely irrational. The baby's sex wasn't even determined yet. It wasn't _even_ a baby. It wasn't even a _fetus_. And yet, she had a feeling about it, that she could not shake.

It didn't bother her, though. What _did_ bother her... was the fact that she was certain she was not going to be a good parent. She had tried to believe she would be a good mother, that she could be a role-model and a teacher and a caring, doting figure in a child's life... but somehow she knew it wouldn't work that way.

And seeing Amber behave the way she behaved, so free-willed and violent and insulting, made her hurt with just the thought of her daughter turning out like that. What if she couldn't be the mother that her child needed? What if she messed everything up?

Her own childhood came rushing back to her, and she ached with the reminder that she _couldn't_ remember most of it. Because her parents had disappeared. They were criminals, who had robbed banks while she was sleeping at night, and they had abandoned her to keep her safe. They hadn't been the parents they had set out to be, and she was who she was today because of it. But was that enough? Was she... happy with the results, when she knew that she could have avoided years of abuse and horror if they had only done better by her?

What if she... turned out like them? What if she... abandoned her child?

The thought was horrifying, and she immediately rejected its possibility in her future... but it still nagged at her. She hated psychology. Despised it with a passion. And yet... she was isolated, and she had grown up lonely and fending for herself, and Booth hadn't been wrong about the 'weight of the world' on her shoulders. She couldn't deny any of that. Couldn't deny that it held its roots in what she had suffered during foster care and the years that had followed.

Her mother hadn't wanted to abandon her, either.

She shivered at the idea, and bit her lip. Booth cast her a glance filled with confusion and concern, but he was called to get up for his turn, and he settled for giving her hand a quick squeeze before standing up.

When he returned, she was fine again, and he didn't ask.

She had told him that if they ever had a child... she wouldn't turn out like Amber.

And he had said that it would never ever happen.

She didn't know what to _make_ of that.

Had he been in character, like before, or was he denying the possibility for them, ever? After all, they had been alone, at the time. But he'd called her Wanda, too.

She closed her eyes again, and breathed out a slow, steadying breath.

What if she had been right, and Booth didn't want any of this, least of all with her? What if he was horrified with the truth, as it was implied by his statement only a short while ago?

She could picture him offering her money for child support, and a wave of emotion hit her so strongly that she almost didn't hide it in time. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she blinked furiously, turning her head down and letting her hair fall in her face to shield herself from anyone that might be looking—especially Booth or her father.

Suddenly, she didn't think she should tell Booth at all. Maybe if she waited a few months, while it was still not obvious... and then she could take a sabbatical from the Jeffersonian until she thought of a better excuse.

But she knew she was being desperate, and that it would never work. She was just seeking an escape, no matter how irrational.

The ground was falling out beneath her, though. What else was she supposed to do?

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The waiting room was warm, and she felt uncomfortable. Overly exposed, out of her undercover persona. Booth sat nearby, his foot tapping on the floor. His nerves, though, were nothing compared to hers.

Internally, she was a jumble of emotions so tangled that no one could ever hope to straighten them out, least of all her. From down the hallway, she could hear the muffled cries from her best friend, and with each one she felt herself winding tighter. She clutched the stuffed bunny to her stomach, feeling self-conscious and freaked out.

That would be her, in nine months. She would be the one in the hospital room, fighting the contractions and screaming bloody murder while her team paced the waiting room. Would Booth be out here, though, or right by her side, holding her hand?

The wait was terrifying, and she couldn't imagine how it must feel from Angela's point of view. Or from Hodgins' for that matter. The soon-to-be-father hadn't made an appearance, and she wasn't sure whether or not to take that as a positive sign. From what she had heard, the fathers often were sent from the room to fetch ice chips, or simply to pace in the hallway when the worst of it was happening.

When Hodgins finally emerged, though, everything melted away. All her fears for Angela disappeared as she took in the small form in Jack's arms, and the huge smile on his face. And with them... went her fears for herself. There was something of a miracle here. And it swept her up in its arms and carried her with the others as they gathered around, cooing and gasping and offering congratulations over and over again.

Michael Staccato Vincent Hodgins.

It was a perfect name, and her vision blurred briefly when Hodgins announced it. Vincent would have liked that, she thought. He would have liked that a great deal.

But it was still Angela that she needed to see, with an urge she couldn't control. She needed to talk to her, about more than just this. That part could wait. Seeing her, though, and reassuring herself that she was fine, that they were still who they were despite all these changes... that could _not_ wait.

"Hi," Angela said tiredly, a warm smile spreading across her face as Brennan appeared.

"Hi," Brennan echoed, her eyes sparkling as she moved forward to stand beside the bed. "What was it like?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"It was wonderful," Angela sighed, and the honesty in her voice blew Brennan away. "And beautiful..." She paused, and Brennan felt the powerful emotion from her friend eating away her fears about her own pregnancy. Angela had no idea of it, but she was being a better friend than Brennan could ever have been for her. She wished she could repay her, someday, somehow. With more than the stuffed rabbit. "It was a dream."

She nodded, blinking a few times as she lifted the toy up and held it towards her friend.

Angela laughed, her smile infectious. "Look at this guy..."

"It's from Booth, too," Brennan explained.

"Thank you," Angela murmured, beaming.

All Brennan seemed able to do was smile back in return. She wanted to say it. Wanted to grow on the moment of joy, because Angela would not judge. Angela would be thrilled without a doubt.

But she just nodded again, biting her tongue and rolling it between her teeth. This was Angela's moment. And when she finally told her friend... it needed to be after she told Booth. And then... Angela would be just as thrilled as she would be if she told her right this instant.

She was reliable like that.

"I love you, Ange," she said softly, the words coming out of nowhere. But she didn't regret saying them.

"I love you, too, sweetie," Angela answered in kind, her eyes crinkling in the corners. "You're going to be an amazing god-mother to my little guy. I know you are."

Brennan laughed warmly.

Angela always knew what to say. Always.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"They looked so happy," Brennan said, as they walked up the sidewalk. They were no longer undercover. They were just Booth and Brennan, walking together for the first time in a while. They hadn't had a chance to talk like this, just the two of them, in quite some time.

Fear weighed down on her. This was the opportunity, to tell him. To just... get it all out there.

And he'd seemed so happy, when they had all stood around with the baby in Hodgins' arms at the center. He seemed like he might be more open to the idea. But she never had been a good judge of these things.

"Well, they had a baby," Booth said, as if that explained everything.

"They're whole lives have changed... you'd think they'd be a little more apprehensive." _Like me_. _I can't do this. This change... this change is terrifying, Booth. I wish you could understand. _

"Well, y'know, having a baby... that's a good thing," he said. And he was smiling, and he was speaking honestly, right from the heart like he had always taught her. She could see it in his face, and the way he was walking, that he meant every word. He thought having a baby was a good thing.

But with her? Was it... a good thing if it was with her?

And could he possibly love her ever again?

"You... you really think that?"

"Yeah, it's a great thing... what?" he stopped, sensing her hesitation, and turned to face her on the sidewalk. The sudden face-to-face threw her off, and she opened her mouth and closed it again. Her heart was racing; surely he could hear it. "Oh, come on, Bones... look. The baby... the baby's fine. They had a healthy baby, alright? They love each other; this is the happiest day of their _lives_." She was just staring at him, and she knew he was going to ask. She knew he was going to see that something was off, that she was hiding something. That she had been lying to him all this time; keeping a secret. "Okay?" he finished after a pause, his brow furrowed as his eyes ran over her face.

When she didn't speak, her mouth opening and then shutting itself once again without so much as letting out a sound, his frown only deepened with more concern. Clearly, he thought his words were alleviating her concerns. He just didn't understand that those weren't her concerns. Her concerns were about something else entirely.

"What?" he asked again.

"I'm..." she started, her voice faltering and a soft, nervous laugh slipping out as she halfway shook her head. "I'm pregnant," she said at last, watching his face helplessly for a reaction. But there was nothing. His expression didn't change, and his eyes stayed locked on hers, just confused and dark, trying to understand. "You're the father," she forced herself to say at last, into the silence.

And then she waited. Waited for it all to come crashing down. Everything that she had worked away during the case, and in Angela's hospital room, came back in a flood. Every fear raced through her mind in that instant, from him leaving her to him hating her, until he did the very last thing she was expecting.

He smiled. His eyes widened in awe and they... they sparkled. She had never seen him smile like that. Like... he was happier than she had ever seen him before. A hesitant smile pulled at the corners of her lips, as she hardly dared to believe that this was how he felt. It was written all over his face, long before he said anything.

But in the end, it wasn't what he said next. It was what he did next. Because suddenly he was crushing her to him in the most powerful embrace she had ever been in. It wasn't even close to a guy hug, and she closed her eyes and clutched her arms around his back, returning the hug with a fervor of pure relief.

"Oh my God," he was whispering, over and over again, his breaths stirring her hair.

And then he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and held her even closer, and she wanted to just cry. Because she had never felt so happy in the face of such unrivaled terror, and it was overwhelming.

He pulled back, and the loss was startling right up until he cupped her face in both of his hands.

"You're serious, Bones?" he asked, that amazing smile still growing on his face.

"Without a doubt," she answered, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

He didn't hesitate. He leaned forward and captured her lips with his, and at once she felt the love she had managed to forget, the love that he had shared the night outside the Hoover, the love he had shown her the night they had spent together. It was tender but strong at the same time, and he held her there with him as she turned into his touch and clutched at him all the more fiercely.

This was what she wanted. This was everything that she wanted.

"We're going to have a baby," he whispered, his forehead pressed to hers and his lips only centimeters away from hers. "You and me..."

She nodded helplessly, and then they were lost again, barely aware that they were in the middle of a city sidewalk, barely aware of the cars driving past.

None of it mattered.

Only this.

**I loved your feedback on the last chapter, and I'm so glad a lot of you are following this story. I hope to continue to hear your opinions as we navigate through the rest of this; I am eager to see all of your reactions to some of the big plot-shockers I have lined up ahead of us. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I love hearing from all of you about your thoughts on this story. We're only just getting started; like I said before, this is going to be a bumpy ride, and a very angsty one as well. Prepare yourselves. **

_Chapter 3_

_May 29__th__, 2011_

The lab felt stifling, like she was trapped under a layer of blankets rather than standing on the air conditioned platform with the skylights far over her head. Every time someone passed by, she wondered if they could see something different in her. And every time Angela called or Hodgins made a comment, she jumped slightly. She was on edge, and she couldn't deny it.

Now, she closed her eyes and tried to ground her focus. The bones in front of her needed attention. A Civil War soldier from bone storage. He was in need of a name. That was what she needed to think about.

And yet, as she heard the doors whoosh open, her eyes shot up with just a bit too much hopefulness. Of course it wasn't Booth. Booth hadn't been by since they had talked that night after leaving the hospital. And he had stopped calling her after the conversations got awkward and the silences became frequent.

She hadn't seen him in two days.

It was funny, how the happiest moments could also be endings. They could close out an entire lifetime. It was like this past week had been the final chapter of something. Like it had all been leading up to one conclusion, to the words she had spoken to confirm that their worlds were upside-down and inside-out, and that they were never going back to the way they had been.

The days of solving cases side-by-side, of arguing and bickering and pretending their was no attraction there... those were over. Because they had crossed the line, had climbed into bed together, and the consequences were not even in the same hemisphere as those she had been expecting.

All those years, and she had known, _known_, that it would happen eventually. Only, she had thought having sex with Booth would simply make things uncomfortable, or perhaps end their partnership. She had thought there was a chance it might even lead to an actual relationship between them.

But she had not taken into account all those things that she used to associate with sex, in the earliest days. This time, she hadn't even given a passing thought to the fact that she might end up pregnant. All she had been thinking about... was how amazing those moments with him had been.

How nice it had been to wake up in his arms, before she had slipped away and hurried from his apartment while he still slept.

She wondered if their sudden distance was her fault; if it had something to do with her leaving that morning, or if it had just occurred naturally. She hadn't been very open about the subject of that night _or_ of the pregnancy, after all. Booth... he wanted to talk about the details, about the changes to their lives, about whether or not it would be a boy or a girl...

Brennan didn't want to talk about any of that. Not now. She wanted to hear that Booth was interested in more than just the baby. She wanted him to talk about _them_, not keep gushing about the unborn child in her uterus.

And what about the kiss? Yet another moment that they would never talk about, like all those in the past that involved their emotions or their near-death experiences. All it took was a day's passing, and then neither of them dared bring it up. She didn't know why, but that was how it went. And this time... this time was no different. He had kissed her, but clearly it had been in his moment of excitement, and nothing more. Because he had made no moves to suggest he cared for her in that way since he had stepped away and they had continued walking together down the sidewalk. At her doorstep, she had almost thought he might ask to come up, or maybe even pull her into another hug, but he had stepped backwards instead, nodding his farewell from a safe distance. That was all the evidence she needed.

And she couldn't even tell him that it was what was bothering her, because she had no right. She'd lost that chance a long time ago, and it wasn't his fault that she was heartbrokenly in love with him. He didn't need to know about that, and have that on his conscience. She didn't _want_ him to lie to her, and tell her he felt something just so it would make her feel better about the whole thing. Because that was what Booth would do. That was who he was.

Still, she couldn't get his smile out her mind; the way his face had lit up when she had told him it was his... that had been exhilarating. And then how he had hugged her, and how relieved and safe she had felt. She would do anything to have that feeling back.

Now, she felt alone and terrified. Less so than before, because she was no longer the only one who knew, but still... the feelings were persistent. It was like being back in foster care; the same emotions were coursing through her. It was a situation that she was trapped in, one she could not force her way out of, no matter how much she wanted to. There was no reversing this, no making it all go away. And then there was the fear; that was familiar as well. And the wondering and wishing... it all brought her back, and she desperately wanted it to stop. Because if there was a time in her life she would erase from her memory, that would be it. She would relive El Salvador again in a heartbeat if it would delete those three years. Gladly.

She remembered Angela, at the start of her own pregnancy. The excitement and the wonder, the hopefulness that just emanated from both her and Hodgins. They had been in it together, fully knowing what they were going to do. They were together, and happy, with everything ahead of them fitting together like a perfect puzzle. A simple puzzle, unlike the complex jigsaw that weaved its way in her path. And she didn't have someone with her, the way Angela had. When things got rough, Angela could tell Hodgins her fears and he could return the favor, so they both reassured each other.

She wished she knew what that was like. None of her relationships had ever had that level of deep trust mixed in. Most of them had involved shared interests, and they had all relied heavily on a sexual component. Some of them had been solely sex, to be honest. What would it be like, to have Booth the way she wanted him? To know he loved her, and that he would always stay with her? She already trusted him; it wouldn't take much for her to gain that level that Angela and Hodgins possessed. But still, she knew it would never be that easy. Because she couldn't be sure she was doing the right thing; not if Booth didn't share her beliefs on the matter.

What would have happened, had she not become pregnant? Would they have simply continued to pretend that they had never slept together, or would they have eventually discussed it? Would it have been easier than this was? Would it have been simpler, without the complications?

Should she have held off on telling him until she was sure of his feelings about her?

Her eyes slid shut again, and she let out a heavy sigh. There was no way of knowing that, now. She'd ruined that opportunity when she had rushed to tell him after simply confirming that he would be happy to have a child.

That was one relief; knowing that he wanted the child.

She should have held off, and waited for both confirmations.

With the way she was acting now, it was likely she'd destroyed everything. What was she supposed to do, though? Embrace all of Booth's eagerness for the child, and simply hope for the best? Or should she tell him how she felt about everything, and force herself to believe his response was honest?

She knew him well enough... would she be able to tell, if he did try lying to her?

But that was a place she didn't want to reach. Doubting every action, every touch, should he indeed claim to have feelings for her... was no way to live.

And he _couldn't _love her. If he did, he'd have said something by now. He'd have said it that night, in the opening she had given him.

_"It's all going to be okay," he had assured, as they had started to walk again, her arm looped through his as she leaned into his side. _

_ "I know," she said softly. "But... everything is still... overwhelming."_

_ "Well, yeah," he said, laughing slightly, "I mean, damn, Bones. I'm overwhelmed, too."_

_ "I just... wish I knew what was going to happen. With all of this."_

_ "Hey, me too," he said, still smiling. She bit her lip and nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. Her eyes closed, and she moved with him, trusting him to guide her steps. He said nothing else, though. _

He hadn't said a word that even suggested he had feelings for her. It was like he was purposefully avoiding the subject, and that stung, leaving a sharp ache in her chest. If he didn't want to even discuss the very _idea_...

She rolled her lower lip between her teeth, and focused on the skeleton again.

A bullet wound to the femur, and a break in the tibia...

"Hey, Bones."

She jumped violently, almost knocking over the tray of instruments next to her, and he caught her by the arm, steadying her.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no, it's okay," she assured, meeting his warm brown eyes and snapping her gaping mouth shut.

"We've got a case," he said hesitantly, frowning slightly as his gaze strayed over her face, taking in her pale complexion and her widened eyes. He looked like he wanted to question her about her reaction, and she hurried to cut him off before he could get too attached to the idea that something was wrong with her. Or worse, that something was wrong with the pregnancy. She didn't want to have a discussion about it. Not now, with how much she had been thinking about everything associated with it.

"What is it?" she asked, snapping off her gloves.

"Decayed body in an apartment building... DC police called us in because of the whole un-identifiable aspect. Are you—?"

"We should get going then, correct?" she asked, cutting him off. "Hodgins!" the bug man poked his head out of his office. "We've got a case!" she called, and watched his face light up.

"I'll get my stuff!" he called back, disappearing into his office again.

Booth opened his mouth again, as if to continue with his previous line of thought, but again she spoke before he could get anything out.

"I'll need to get my kit as well. You should probably notify Cam."

He nodded, his mouth still open, but she was already taking the stairs down and heading for her office. He stared after her, confusion written all over his face.

Once alone again, she let out a heavy breath she had been holding, and hastily shed her lab coat and hung it back on it's hook, fixing her shirt and her ponytail and checking her reflection in the pocket-sized mirror Angela had convinced her to keep in her desk—for occasions just like these.

She couldn't isolate herself from him, and she knew it. It would isolate him as well, and it would be unfair. Even if he didn't love her, he deserved so much better. She knew what his situation with Rebecca had done to him, back when he had still questioned his ex's reasons for keeping him from Parker. She could _never_ make him doubt something like that. He was a good man, and a great father. She knew he could do anything for her or their child.

So, if she didn't want him asking questions like that, or even silently believing that... she needed to start involving him more. And then maybe that would lead to something. A confirmation, either positive or negative, to answer her questions.

_If you really wanted that, you'd just ask, _a probing voice in her mind reminded her. She sighed heavily, knowing that her subconscious was correct. She was afraid to ask. So what?

She shut the desk drawer with a bit more force than was necessary, and swung her bag over her shoulder before leaving the office to re-join Booth by the main doors.

"Ready to go?" Booth asked, clearly having decided to drop the subject of her well-being. She couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. "Hodgins has the address; he and Wendell will catch up to us."

She nodded briskly, and then hesitated rather than leading the way, choosing to follow along with him. Striding ahead wasn't going to help at all with her resolution to stop avoiding him.

He noticed, but made no comment.

"So, who's the dead guy?" he said instead, nodding back over their shoulders towards the lab.

"Civil War soldier," she answered. "Still working on an ID. This case will take priority, though, obviously."

"Right."

They reached the elevator to take them down to the parking structure, and stood awkwardly in silence as they lowered. When the doors opened, she was sure they both released a heavy breath of relief at the same time.

The car ride was less uncomfortable, with Booth filling her in on the details of the case he was already aware of.

"The body was found on the apartment next to the elevator, on the fourth floor. Lived alone, male... if it's the guy on the apartment contract, then his name is Nathan Kaminski. It's more than likely that either he's dead, or Kaminski killed him."

"Then where is Kaminski?" she questioned with a raised eyebrow. "Not exactly a good idea; leaving a body in your apartment after you've killed the person."

"Nobody said Kaminski had to be a genius," Booth commented. "But you're right, that wouldn't add up."

"How was the body decomposed?" she questioned, her mind following a different track. "And do they have any idea how long it's been in the apartment?"

"From what I've been told... Kaminski was house-sitting his neighbors cats."

"Oh," she said at once, realization setting in. "Hodgins will need to bring those cats back to the lab, then."

"Yep," Booth said, giving a distasteful grimace. "This is why I'm never having cats in my house."

"I actually like cats," Brennan said, her gaze straying to stare out the side window. "We had a kitten when I was young."

"Really? You never mentioned it."

"My parents said it ran away. Russ told me later that it got hit by a car."

"Sorry."

She shrugged. "I barely remember it. But I do think they make nice companions. Much more clean than dogs, and more self-sufficient as well."

"Until they eat you," Booth added under his breath.

She smirked. "Yes. But only if you die alone." Her smile fell away, then, and she focused on staring out the window.

Booth said nothing, but she felt his eyes on her for a long moment before they returned to the road. She felt an opening, and she took a shaky breath before she hesitantly voiced what she had been struggling with since the elevator ride, turning to face him at last.

"I have an appointment today. With my doctor."

"For the..?"

"Yes." She struggled a moment, and then asked tentatively. "I was wondering... if you might like to come with me."

At once, he smiled. "Of course, Bones. I would... I'd love to go with you."

A small measure of relief washed away some of her concerns, and she smiled back. "It's at one... we'll need to find an opening to leave."

"Hey, we'll think of something to tell the team. It's not like it's unusual for us to go off to lunch alone, after all."

"Of course," she agreed, feeling lighter than she had in days. This was what she had wanted; someone to take some of the weight from her. With Booth helping her make decisions and staying by her side... she felt better already. A part of her had been worried he would feel obligated to come along, but judging from his surprise and his eagerness... that wasn't the case. He genuinely wanted to go with her.

But, that only made sense. It was about the baby, after all. His child.

She sensed that he wanted to say something more about it, but that he was holding back. She didn't know why, but she was grateful. For now, she was just happy that he was going with her to the appointment. She would deal with how things unfolded from there, but she didn't want to talk about it anymore right this instant.

Thankfully, the crime scene wasn't a far drive from the lab. They arrived shortly, pulling into an opening between a police cruiser and another SUV from the FBI.

A female agent greeted them, and for once Brennan remembered that her name was Genny Shaw. She had worked the closing of the Broadsky case with them.

"The body's upstairs," she said, speaking mostly to Brennan, in case she had not been informed. She nodded in response, but stayed with Booth, not moving towards the building. Shaw seemed unfazed, continuing to speak, except now more towards Booth.

"DCPD was called in by the neighbor across the hall. She thought she smelled something funny, said she hadn't seen the occupant in a few days. The super unlocked the door for them, body was lying in the living room, plain sight. Covered in, uh... covered in the three cats he was watching for the lady down the hall. She's on vacation, according to our woman from across the hall. Scheduled to return later today. There was also insect activity; apparently the building has an ant problem."

"I'll let our entomologist know," Booth said agreeably.

"Has anyone touched the body?" Brennan questioned, switching into protective-anthropologist mode.

"No," Shaw answered immediately, shaking her head. "And with good reason. It's... unpleasant, to say the least. The cats, though, have been penned up. They're ready for transport; I assumed you would want to bring them back to your lab, seeing as they've probably been... eating... for the past few days."

"Alright, let's see the scene," Booth responded when she was finished.

She nodded swiftly and led the way, nodding to the cops stationed by the doors. They tipped their hats to Booth and one of them tilted his head to the radio clipped on the front of his shirt, speaking to his captain before he and the other officer headed for the cruiser. Assumably, they were the last two there, and had just been waiting for the cavalry to arrive.

"FBI techs already on scene?" Booth asked as they stepped into the elevator inside the building.

"Yep. They took over for DCPD shortly after the call was made to our offices. I got here close behind. They have the crime scene secured and are keeping the neighbors in check awaiting your arrival."

"Excellent."

The elevator dinged finally, and the doors slid open, sending them out into a hallway filled with men and women in uniforms and an assortment of civilians with their doors open. The first thing Brennan was aware of was the noise. No one was quietly observing, and everyone appeared to be in discussion or argument about the commotion occurring directly across from them. The door was wide open, blocked by a belt of yellow crime scene tape that leveled off high enough for them to duck under it.

The body was indeed directly visible, and it was the first thing her eyes landed on as they entered the apartment. She went to the body, carefully stepping around it and lowering herself down to crouch on her toes as she bent closer to observe the features up close. The flesh was almost entirely absent, and the ribs were plainly visible. Bodily fluids soaked the carpet nearby, and she was glad of her protective boots, which both shielded her feet and kept the scene uncontaminated.

"No signs of a struggle," Booth was saying, his back to her as he paced the borders of the room, eyeing the furniture and the wallpaper. "The violence seems to have all happened right here," he added, pointing to where the body lay prone.

"The cats didn't undress him," Shaw pointed out from her position from the doorway. At the glance she got from Booth and Brennan, she pointed towards the clothing that lay streamed out in the middle of the sitting area. A shirt hanging off the back of the couch; a sock sticking out from under the chair.

"Hm," Booth murmured with interest.

Brennan turned her attention back to the body.

"Male," she commented, snapping on gloves and reaching forward to examine the skull more thoroughly. "Late twenties..."

"That fits our description of the occupant," Shaw supplied.

Brennan nodded distractedly, scanning the rest of the body for injuries.

"Fractured wrist consistent with a fall..." she murmured, standing and moving to the other side. "He took a punch to his nose," she added, raising her eyes and meeting Booth's. "All I can find here are wounds consistent with an attack. Nothing to suggest he fought back. At least... not very hard," she amended, carefully lifting his right arm and noting the scarring to the knuckles.

"Cause of death?"

She shook her head. "Undetermined. I'll need to—"

"Bring him back to the lab," Booth finished for her. "Got it."

"Sir?" Both of them looked up, even though the address had clearly been for Booth. Another agent stood in the doorway beside Shaw. "There's a woman here who wants to speak with the agent in charge."

Booth glanced at Brennan, and then turned back and nodded, stepping around the body and ducking under the tape. She turned her attention back to the body.

"He's hot. I can see why you like him," Shaw commented. Brennan's gaze snapped up incredulously, and Shaw flushed at once. "Sorry," she said at once. "Just an observation. I'll... I'm going to go... over there." She pointed down the hall, and then swiftly vanished.

Biting her lip and shaking her head, Brennan forcibly turned her attention back to the point at hand. There was a dead body in need of positive identification and justice. And it was her job to make sure both were handled properly.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth followed Agent Dane Ohlsen down the hallway, and directed him into a room at the end farthest from where the others were occupied with the nosy neighbors.

"This is Selena Sabella, she lives here," Ohlsen told him. "And this is Anna Pollack; Kaminski's girlfriend." He said it with a raised eyebrow, though, and Booth nodded in understanding. Something was off about her, and he was going to have to look for just what that might be.

"Thanks," he said, and the other agent nodded and left him to it.

"Do you live in the building?" Booth asked Anna, who blew her nose loudly and shook her head. Selena looked unfazed, sipping from her coffee cup and idly looking him up and down. He shifted uncomfortably. Her eyes were a piercing blue, more so than Bones' were, and he found it unsettling. "How do you two know each other?" he tried instead, his eyes settling on Selena. Clearly she was the only one of them capable of answering any sort of questioning.

Anna continued to sniffle; slow, gasping sobs breaking up their conversation as Selena responded.

"Oh, we don't. She came by the building when I was out in the hallway, and when she found out about Nate... well," she shrugged and gestured to the other woman offhandedly. "I offered her some coffee, but she seems to prefer my box of tissues..."

"What was your relationship to Nate?" Booth tried cautiously, stepping forward. Selena nodded to the empty chair, and he settled into it, resting his hands on the table and leaning towards Anna in the hopes of coaxing her into an answer.

She swallowed loudly. "We were seeing each other," she finally choked out, hiccupping slightly. "A month now..." she added, breaking down immediately after the last word escaped her lips.

Booth ran his tongue over his dried lips as he struggled for a response.

"Is it really Nate, then?" Selena asked, dragging his attention back to her. "That's what everyone is saying, you know. That it's Nate."

"We don't know for sure, yet," Booth answered diplomatically, and immediately wished he hadn't.

"He's alive," Anna burst out. "He... he has to be. That can't be him! Tell me it isn't him!"

Booth grimaced. He always hated this part, but in all honesty, he knew he couldn't get her hopes up for nothing. The odds were not in her favor. "Ms. Pollack, it's very likely that the victim is Nathan. I need you to prepare yourself for that... and any information you could give me would be helpful. Did he have _any_ enemies that you can think of?"

"Oh, lot's of them." Selena, not Anna.

He sent her a warning look, but she kept going.

"I've seen so many spited woman in that hallway, you wouldn't believe... I almost wish I'd recorded a few of the reactions when they found out just how many woman he was sleeping with. There are some cable shows that would have paid top dollar for action like that..."

"You... you take that back!" Anna forced out, clutching a tissue in her fist, her eyes red and her face streaked with tears.

"Oh please, dearie. It was no _secret_." She turned back to Booth and said, her voice a stage-whisper, "_Three_ women; that's how many he's seeing right now. Steady, at least. There are a few he comes back with that I don't recognize. Horribly charming; you know the type. Or maybe you don't. But anyways, he's a right-out player, that's what he is."

"Don't say that!" Anna practically shrieked through her tears.

Booth couldn't say he liked Selena very much, but he trusted her word regardless. There was no reason to lie about it, and in general... women involved with men like that tended to be clueless and desperate. Anna seemed the type.

"Hey, be gratefully," Selena argued back, "He _was_ good. Would have to be, with all that practice." She turned to Booth again. "I had to see what all the fuss was about," she explained with a shrug.

Booth stood abruptly, deciding that now was the time to intervene before Anna dove across the table and attempted to claw Selena's eyes out of her head.

"Ms. Pollack, if you could come with me... we might have a few more questions for you that would be easier for you to answer in our offices."

She nodded after only a brief hesitation, her eyes darting narrowly back to Selena before she allowed herself to be led from the apartment. Booth shut Selena's door firmly behind them, and sent Anna on her way with Ohlsen.

Brennan was just emerging from the crime scene, and she met Booth in the hallway.

"Anything new?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"I was just supervising the body. There were injuries to the ribs that could be cause of death, but I won't know until I can look at them up close, in the lab. Wendell and Hodgins are here, so I gave them charge. They'll make sure everything gets handled properly for shipment to the Jeffersonian." She glanced past him, towards the apartment he had come from. "Did you discover anything?"

"Lady down the hall says that our possibly victim was a player. One of his girlfriends is heading over to the Hoover with Ohlsen; I'll speak to her more later, when she's calmed down. Want to help me interview the rest of the neighbors? They might know more."

For a moment, he was afraid she would turn him down, but then she nodded, much to his surprise. She had been avoiding him lately, and he knew it probably had a lot to do with the pregnancy. For the life of him, he didn't know what to make of it.

The night she had told him, she had been so afraid of his reaction. But then, when he had told her how excited he was, how good of a thing it was, she had seemed just as happy as him. With the past few days, though... she didn't seem to be feeling that way. He wanted to ask if she blamed him for it, or even if she wanted this at all, but she always seemed to anticipate his questions and cut him off before he could say anything.

And if she didn't want him to even ask, what did that say?

He hated that she was so afraid. She was pregnant, with _his _kid, and he couldn't even say anything about it. Couldn't even tell her how much that meant to him, or apologize if she was upset by it. Because he didn't know _how_ she felt about it. Was she happy, and the fear was just the primary emotion she was displaying, or was she genuinely upset, and just didn't want to show him how angry she was?

That would be her, through and through. Trying to hide the pain and take the burden on herself, rather than blaming him the way she should in the situation. She hadn't planned on this, and neither had he... but if he had his way, they'd be going through it all together. And up until she had offered for him to go to the appointment with her, she'd been doing her very best to keep to herself.

So, yeah, he was starting to assume she hated him for it. Brennan, who didn't want children—as far as he knew; it was still a weird subject with her—was pregnant by his fault. He couldn't deny that.

He still remembered waking up the following morning and wondering if it had all been a dream. But it hadn't, because the memories were real and the pillow smelled like her shampoo. She had simply been gone, just as he had always imagined—and feared—she would be. And with that, he had been carrying a heavy load of guilt.

She had been vulnerable and desperate that night, when she had come into his bedroom seeking solace and a shoulder to lean on. And instead, they had wound up sleeping together. He was supposed to be the guy she could always trust, the guy with her best interests at heart... and there he was, taking advantage of the situation. Because he had wanted it to be real, and he had wanted it to _mean_ something.

Only, she clearly hadn't felt the same way. If she had, she wouldn't have been gone in the morning. It left him thinking she was either ashamed, or at the very least regretted what they had done. And now, the damage was done.

He should have stopped her, rather than going along with her when she had initiated the chain of events. When she had kissed him, he should have pulled away. He should have slowed her down, made her more aware of the situation and his feelings. Made her see that it couldn't just be sex.

Now it was too late, and he had dug both of their graves for them. She was uncomfortable discussing it with him, probably because she wanted nothing to do with him anymore. He had abandoned her—like he had promised not to—when he had begun his relationship with Hannah, practically throwing it in her face from his spite over her not feeling the same way. Right up until she told him she did, and then... it had been too late, as well.

He took the lead down the hallway, and they came upon Shaw, who was in the process of interviewing a straggly-haired man in a bathrobe, his orange socks clashing horribly with the carpeting.

"I understand that you don't get out much," Shaw was saying, "But if you remember anything, here is my card."

He snorted and snapped the card out of her hand, shutting his door forcibly in her face.

"Anything to report?" Booth asked, and the young agent jumped and turned to face them.

"Well, our vic wasn't the most loveable guy in the world. Although he certainly got a lot of loving..."

Booth nodded. "Same story I've been hearing."

"You want to grab the two on the end of the hall? I'll have my notes on the rest sent directly to your office for review when I get back."

"Good," he said with a nod, and gestured for Brennan to follow him around Shaw and down to the last two apartments.

The first was occupied by an elderly woman with wispy grey hair and large brown eyes. Wrinkles sank in most of her face, and her expression seemed to be set permanently on surprise. But she was helpful enough, answering Booth's questions without holding back.

"Oh, he was a dirty man. A dirty scoundrel, that one."

"Do you have any idea what his girlfriends' names were?"

"Anna," she said firmly. "That rat bastard used to shout her name in the middle of the night." She lowered her voice, "As if I don't know what _that_ meant..."

"Right. Did he say any... other names?"

"No... no, I don't remember. But there is a pretty girl who comes 'round regular."

"Do you know her name?" Brennan probed.

"Lisa? Maybe... maybe that's it. I spoke to her once in the hallway. She was very friendly... much too good for that rat bastard. I _tried_ to warn her..."

"I'm sure you did, ma'am," Booth said kindly, getting ready to wrap up the brief interview. He didn't want to get her to invested, otherwise she might start talking. She seemed like the type to spill her life story after just a few questions. "We might be back with more questions later. Thank you for your help."

She gave a 'humph' and a little wave, and then shuffled back through her doorway and carefully shut it behind her. They listened as about five bolts slid across, and Booth met Brennan's eyes, sharing a raised-eyebrow look before they both turned together to the door behind them.

Brennan reached forward and knocked, and they both stood patiently as they heard footsteps approach. The man who answered the door was in shorts and a beer-stained wife-beater. He was mostly bald, but he had a scruffy beard going down to his chest.

"What?" he asked shortly.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth," Booth introduced himself, flashing his credentials. "This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. We're here about the murder down the hall."

"Oh. Wondered what all the hubbub was about..." he leaned out the door and peered down at the taped off crime scene with mild interest. "Who was it?"

"We believe the victim was Nathan Kaminski. Did you know him very well?"

"Him?" he laughed, a loud and booming sound from his belly. "So one of 'em finally did it, did they? Told him once, y'know. Women don't like it if ya' sleep with a whole lot of 'em at once."

"Can you give us the names of any women he might have spited?" Booth said at once, jumping at the opportunity. But the man shrugged.

"There was one here a few days ago... Liz. She's around a lot. Totally clueless, like that Anna girl. God, they're blind as shit. Felt like telling them myself, y'know?"

"Yeah, I get it," Booth assured, pushing forward. "Did Liz have a last name?"

"Sorry, didn't catch it."

Booth sighed, and beside him, Brennan was tapping her foot. He watched her check her watch, and realized they were probably approaching one o'clock.

"Anything else you can think of? Anything that seemed off, any threats you might have heard, any fights?"

The man shook his head again. "Can't help you."

"Alright." Booth handed over a card. "If you remember anything, give me a call."

"Whatever."

The door shut, and they found Shaw heading their way.

"We're going to head out," Booth said, before the younger agent could speak. "Can you hold down the fort here for a little longer? Our Jeffersonian team should be finishing up."

"I... yeah, sure. Anything else you need me to do?"

"Just get those notes to me," Booth called over his shoulder, resting a hand on the small of his partner's back as he guided them back to the elevators. "What time is it?" he asked after the doors had shut.

"Twelve forty-three," she said calmly.

"Alright, we're heading straight to your appointment," he assured.

She nodded, saying nothing. But he could see the relief in her expression and in the way her posture relaxed. At least she trusted him on that, and seemed glad that he was going with her.

One small victory.

**This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I thought this was a good cut off point. I know, some of you might not have thought you were signing on for a case-fic, but this is how my brain works now. I used to be completely incapable of incoporating cases into my writing... but now I can't seem to write a story without a case. Strange, I know. The case, however, will be VITAL in the development of Booth and Brennan's relationship from this point out. So, I hope you will all enjoy it, and how it ties in.**

**Unlike with my other stories, I'm not ahead on this one. So, in this case, I can honestly say that feedback will make me write faster. I don't intend to update earlier than once per week... but the farther I can get ahead, the more certain I am that there WILL be an update every week.**

**PS- I love Agent Shaw, and I really, really hope she will be around next season. Did anyone else scream MAC! at their television screen when she appeared? Because I did. If you don't understand what I'm talking about, go watch Veronica Mars. It's worth it, I promise. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm loving all the feedback and support I'm getting on this one. Thank you so much to all of you. Like I said before, I have big plans for this story, and I hope you will all stick around to find out what they are. I'm extremely excited to write more of this. **

**Note-I'm not at all familiar with many details of pregnancy. Never been pregnant, never had a pregnant friend, and all my adult relatives had kids when I was still pretty much a kid myself. My mother isn't much help in remembering how things were eighteen years ago either, haha. So, I'm left with research, and I hope I'm doing it well enough. To avoid getting things _really_ wrong, though, I am probably going to avoid most of the details about the technical stuff as I go along. If anyone would like to give me advice, or share personal insight as the story goes on, I would LOVE to have your help. **

_Chapter 4_

_May 29__th__, 2011_

"Alright, so there's really no need for me to see you again for at least another month," Dr. Tabatha Lee informed them, smiling widely at them and showing two perfect rows of white teeth. Her glasses sat neatly on her nose, perched so that she could peer over the top of them, which she did as she reached forward to shake both of their hands. "Congratulations again," she added.

Brennan thanked her, tucking her prescriptions for the vitamins she would need into her purse and standing up. The paper from the exam chair crinkled as the furniture returned to its original shape behind her.

Booth stood idly, hands in his pockets once they were back in the main office, as Brennan spoke with the receptionist and set up a date for her next appointment. July 2nd, he heard her say, and he made a mental note to write that down on his own calendar just in case she tried to get away with going alone. He wanted to make sure she was aware of just how much he wanted to be involved. And if she kept him in the dark about the dates for the appointments... it would be a bad start.

"Well, that was easy," he commented casually as they entered the elevator. He wanted to say something more, but a nurse caught the doors before they shut, smiling apologetically and hitting the button for her floor before moving to stand in the far corner. They stood in silence as they lowered. And when the nurse departed, two more people entered, and his chance was gone yet again.

He wasn't even sure what he would say to her, but he knew he had to say _something_, before they got out of here. Back out there, they were solving a murder. But in here... the focus was undeniably upon her pregnancy. There was no way she could avoid him if he brought it up.

Heading back to the car, she walked ahead of him for the first time that morning, her jaw set sharply and her eyes firmly on her destination.

"Bones," he said, and she stopped short, turning to meet his eyes with widened blue ones. He came level with her, and halted as well so he could face her. "You know I want to do this with you, right? Every step of the way."

She opened her mouth, and then closed it again, darting her eyes away before she nodded. "I know, Booth."

He allowed himself a small smile. "Alright, good. Just... know that I'm not going anywhere."

Something surprised him in the way her eyes suddenly shifted, but he couldn't put his finger on just what it was that he saw change in her expression. A moment later, whatever it was had gone, and she was just nodding again.

"How about we get lunch at the Diner before returning to the lab?" she suggested, slowly starting to walk again, so he could keep right by her side. He was glad that she wasn't pulling away again, but still unsure of why she would want to, to begin with. What was going on in that pretty head of hers, that would make her seem so eager to cling to him one second, and then run the next?

It was easy to believe she hated him for what was happening, but he was starting to see flaws in that reasoning. There was something else going on, that he couldn't grasp just yet. And he didn't dare ask, because something told him it would only make things worse between them.

They climbed into the vehicle together, and Booth set a course for their favorite eatery, trying to keep the conversation light with discussion about how Angela was doing, and how he had gone to a baseball game with Parker a few nights ago. She seemed relieved at this, and eagerly joined in, offering remarks and questions. By the time they arrived at the Diner, they were engaged in a debate over whether or not baseball was a more challenging sport than football. Brennan was supplying statistics to support the theory that football was more dangerous but baseball required more focused skills, while Booth was firmly sticking to the football end of the argument.

Once inside, though, it died down and Booth found himself staring over his menu at her, watching the way her brow furrowed as she scanned the options for lunch even though she was probably just going to get her usual, like always.

He wished he could just tell her how pretty she was, like he'd been dying to do for years now. There had only ever been a few occasions when he had gotten the opportunity to say it, and they had all involved her dressing up for some event or for an undercover mission. He had never gotten the chance to say it just _because_, with no special occasion attached.

She wouldn't react well if he said it now, though, and he knew it. If she hated him, or at the very least regretted everything that had happened between them recently... then she didn't need to hear how he felt about her. He'd already been down that road once before, and it hadn't ended well. In fact, every time he bore his heart with _any_ woman, it didn't end well. This time, he wasn't going to go with his gut; he was going to go with his brain. And his brain was telling him to hold off for as long as was necessary. Maybe someday he'd be able to tell her how he felt, when he was sure it wouldn't upset her.

He didn't deserve her anymore, though, anyways. She would have every right to turn him down, what with how he had treated her, and what she was going through now because of him.

So, he wasn't going to put himself out there to face the inevitable rejection. Especially with how much she needed someone with her right now. She didn't want a relationship. She wanted the partner he was supposed to be for her. She wanted a friend and shoulder to lean on. That was why she had invited him to the doctor's appointment; because she trusted him and wanted him with her. Not because he had given her any reason to return the feelings he still possessed for her.

She glanced up from her menu, and caught him staring. But her gaze dropped immediately, before he had to avert his. A blush rose in her cheeks, and he almost commented. His mouth opened, but then he shut it again and returned his attention to his own menu. He was getting the BLT burger, but still, he scanned the other options as if he was actually interested. Anything to keep his gaze occupied while he waited for the waitress to return—but still, he found his gaze straying up to take her in every now and then.

After his gaze caught hers more than once, he wondered if she wasn't doing the same thing.

"What can I get you two? The usual?" their cheerful waitress questioned, glancing between them and smiling widely, her pen ready on the pad of paper she clutched in one hand.

He glanced across at Brennan and gave a nod. "Yes, please," she answered the woman's question, folding her menu.

"You're going to have to start eating more than just a salad soon," he pointed out after she had collected the menus and moved on to another table, smiling teasingly.

She twisted her lip between her teeth, and just gave a sharp nod, her gaze swiftly settling on the street outside their window. He sighed softly to himself, fiddling with the edge of his napkin and resigning himself to the fact that the subject was, again, off limits.

"Sorry," she said at last, and he frowned, glancing up in surprise... and confusion.

"For what?"

She took a heavy breath, her eyes staying far away on the world outside for a moment before she swung it over to meet his. Her eyes were steely blue, but they shimmered with emotion.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted softly. "I... want you to be involved. Of _course_ I want you to be involved. I just..."

"Hey, hey," he assured quickly, reaching across to rest a hand on top of hers. She glanced down at the contact, not looking up until he spoke again. "I understand, Bones. I do, really. This is... still a lot to process, and of course you have every right to do things as you see fit. Don't do anything just for my benefit, okay?"

"But you—"

"I'm here when you need me," he said at once, dipping his head so he was looking coaxingly upwards at her. "Do you understand?"

"I... yes. Thank you."

He nodded, satisfied, and pulled back, letting his hand slide off of hers and across the table until it rested on the edge of his napkin once again.

They didn't speak much until the food finally arrived, and then they focused mainly on what was in front of them, using it as a distraction from each other. For a long while, Booth was certain she didn't plan to interact with him at all until they were back on the case. But then she reached across and hesitantly took a fry from his plate. He glanced up in surprise, and then grinned as he watched her pop it into her mouth. Her eyes were locked on his, and she offered a smile in return before reaching across and snatching another.

He laughed. "Hey, hey, don't take them all, Bones."

"I won't," she promised innocently, hesitating for only a moment before she took another, this time dipping it into his own ketchup.

"One of these days, you're going to have to get fries with your salad."

"Actually," she said, reaching across only to have him pull the dish away, "I find I prefer this situation." Swiftly, she caught another between her slender fingers before he could slide the dish in another direction. "Although I may need my own ketchup," she commented, noting how he had pulled the dish away again.

"Nice, Bones. Real nice."

She shrugged, grinning mischievously and finally turning her attention back to her own plate.

"You know, you don't see me stealing _your_ food."

"That's because you don't like my food."

He scowled, but couldn't argue with that. She smirked.

"So, who do you like for this murder?" he asked, guarding his plate possessively as he picked up his burger to take a large bite.

"I don't like to make assumptions without the evidence," she reminded him. "But... I agree with the neighbor's assessment, that one of his dalliances might have had it in for him."

Booth nodded. "My thoughts exactly. And the girl down the end freaked me out a little, too."

"How so?"

He launched into an explanation of Selena's behavior, and by the time he was wrapping up the story she was nodding slowly in agreement.

"Her behavior does seem odd," she acknowledged. "Are we going to go back and re-question her?"

"Later. I want to get some more info before I return to any of the neighbors... I need something I can use on them, to see if I can tangle any of them up. For now, they've got all the right answers. But in a building like that... someone always sees something they don't think is important. Or they know how important it is, and they don't bother to report it. It's what happens when you live in the city; you run the risk of getting in trouble and just having no one care enough to do anything about it."

Brennan nodded. "There was a case in New York that I read an article about, quite some time ago. A woman, raped and murdered in the middle of the day. Dozens of witnesses—all of them assumed someone else would call 911, and no one did."

"Sick world," Booth murmured, sighing and shuffling his fries around in his dish.

"It really is," Brennan responded softly. He watched as her hand shifted from the edge of the table to land across her abdomen. It was subconscious and he knew it, but he felt his gut twist. She had asked him, years ago, if he had any regrets about Parker, knowing what he did about how dangerous the world was. Now, he wondered if she felt like that again. Like she was bringing their child into a cruel and unpredictable world.

Yet another reason for her to hate what had happened between them.

They finished their meals at relatively the same time, and the waitress came by with the check. Booth suspected Brennan didn't want him paying because it would assume something about their relationship, and so he relented and allowed her to handle things the way she wanted to. Which meant splitting the bill fifty-fifty.

The ride to the lab, much like the ride to the Diner itself, was quiet. He drove, every now and then glancing over to check on her. She was deep in thought, that familiar crease between her eyebrows as she stared out her window. A strand of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail billowed across her face uncontrollably in the air that gushed through the open windows.

As Booth put the vehicle into park in the garage under the Jeffersonian, Brennan brought the case back up, and they discussed her preliminary findings together as they made their way to the elevator and then through the doors and up onto the platform.

The body wasn't present, but the victim's clothing was, and it was spread out evenly on one of the lit examination tables. Brennan cut across to her office, returning quickly with her lab coat and a fresh pair of gloves, her hair in the process of being wrapped in a fresh ponytail.

"Cam is working with the remaining flesh and organs?" she questioned as she stepped up to join Wendell and Hodgins.

The intern was the first to respond. "Yes. She found something that might interest you..." he used a pair of tweezers to pick up what appeared to be a soggy piece of paper from the table. He gave her a raised-eyebrow look and set it down again.

"What is it?" she asked, bending closer.

Booth had the same question, and he leant over it as well, frowning.

"A note, maybe. From the amount of material, probably not on a full sheet of paper... more like something from a small pad. Normally, we'd leave it up to Angela..."

"But," Hodgins picked up for him, "Under the circumstances, we're on our own."

"How is she?" Brennan asked at once.

"Perfect," Hodgins replied eagerly, beaming. "And the baby... well, the baby is keeping us up at all hours, but he's perfect, too."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Should you be at home with them?" she queried with concern.

"I would be, but she insisted that one of us spend some time at the lab. I'm not here for the full day, don't worry. We just... don't want to leave you guys short-handed. We remember what happened the last time the team split up."

Booth cleared his throat, and the bug man raised his gaze.

"Right," he said with a nod. "The note. I called Angie, and she told me she could talk you guys through it via webcam. After what happened when we tried to work her equipment last time... she told me that she wanted Brennan to be in charge of it. Apparently, you're the only one she trusts with the Angelatron, Dr. B.," he intoned, his gaze switching from Booth over to the anthropologist.

"Did you damage it last time?" she questioned, frowning.

"Not me," he said, raising his hands up in front of him and then motioning at Wendell.

"Hey, hey, it wasn't _all_ me," the intern argued.

"Right, it was partially Cam," Hodgins agreed with a wave of his hand. "But the fact remains that you nearly wiped her system, and you probably saw some things you _shouldn't_ have."

At that last comment, Wendell swallowed and looked away.

"I'll be happy to look into it," Brennan agreed, cutting into the discussion and dragging it back to the ground it had started on. "When will Cam be ready to let us look at the body?"

"I already collected my samples; right now she's finishing up with hers... getting the stomach contents, the toxicology... all of that coroner stuff. She'll hand it over soon, she said."

Brennan nodded, turning her attention fully to the crumpled note.

"Where did you find that?" Booth questioned.

"In the pants' pocket," Hodgins answered, nodding towards the nearly unrecognizable pair of pants lying on the table. "Turns out our vic fell on them, and then proceeded to decompose _into_ them."

"That explains the damage," Brennan murmured, frowning as she picked up a set of tools from the nearest tray and began to cautiously pry apart one of the folds.

"You think you'll be able to reconstruct it?" Booth asked, leaning over her shoulder.

She cast him a glance that told him to step back and stop hovering so close, and then answered, "Hopefully. Angela is very capable; with her instruction, I should be able to gain a fairly good idea of what the note looked like originally."

"Actually, Angela said it would be good if Booth could work on it as well. She said she'd like if two people were involved. Something about not wanting to re-explain things, and not trusting anyone else..." Hodgins waved off the rest of what he'd been saying, and shrugged, "Whatever her reasons... you both should be in on it."

"My priority should be on the body," Brennan pointed out, straightening up. "When that is ready... I'll need to give it all my attention."

"Wendell's capable of doing that," Jack pointed out. At Brennan's raised eyebrow, he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Her words, again, not mine."

Sighing to herself, Brennan bit her lip and glanced towards Cam's office.

"Alright, Mr. Bray, I want regular reports. And let me know the moment you begin to examine the skeleton."

"Of course, Dr. Brennan."

She transferred the note to an empty tray, and stepped away from the table, motioning with a nod of her head for Booth to follow her in the direction of Angela's office. He had to agree, it made the most sense to work in there.

He also suspected that Angela had more in mind than the job when she 'insisted' he work with Brennan on this. Angela knew he could be running down other leads; she was trying to keep him around Brennan.

He found himself wondering, suddenly, if Angela knew about the pregnancy. Brennan had been very insistent on keeping things quiet, but she had never said specifically whether or not anyone else knew. And he was aware that she had slipped away to visit her best friend alone at the hospital. He wouldn't hold it against her for a moment if she had gone to Angela before him. After all, she was scared and freaked out—Angela was the natural selection when it came to who she would want to discuss it with first. He wasn't even slightly objective in the matter, whereas Angela could provide valuable insight and advice.

Brennan started up the Angelatron, and the screen hummed to life, lighting up and asking for a password. She provided it without hesitation, which didn't surprise him at all, and then proceeded to load up the proper software.

Clearly she had been paying attention to her friend's work all these years. She knew far more about how to run this stuff than he did.

Only a moment later, though, she stopped short, blinking at the screen and then nodding to herself with one quick jerk before she pulled up another screen beside the first. A moment later, a loading circle appeared and rounded about itself continuously in the middle of the new page.

"Hey," Angela said the minute she appeared on the screen. She looked flushed and exhausted, but she was smiling warmly, and seemed more than thrilled to see them. Being away from work was clearly a blessing and a curse for her. She needed the time away, for certain, but the isolation was probably getting to her.

"Hi, Ange," Brennan answered, grinning. Her eyes were lit up now, and the next words out her mouth were, "How's the baby?"

He glanced at her in mild surprise, but then quickly masked his expressions and tried to focus on the conversation. He didn't need to start misinterpreting her feelings about Angela's baby, and applying them to her own pregnancy. Her excitement for her friend might have nothing to do with her feelings about their future child.

There was every possibility she still hated him for the situation, and wished it had never happened. In fact, all the evidence besides _this_ seemed to point right to that answer. And he had been trained to always believe the simplest answer was the one that was most likely correct.

"He'd doing really well. He's hungry all the time, and those lessons in diaper changing don't even put a dent in the real thing... but it's great. It's really, really great. Although, I'm dying for a full-night's sleep," she added ruefully, laughing to herself.

Brennan's tongue ran over her lips, and she nodded quickly, her mouth opening but then shutting quickly once more. She swallowed heavily. "If you need any help, I'll be glad to come over. Whenever you need me."

"Thank you," Angela said with a heavy sigh. "I'm not sure when, but I'm thinking I'll probably take you up on that at some point. Besides, he needs to spend time with his godmother. _And_ his godfather," she added, raising an eyebrow and turning to acknowledge Booth for the first time.

"Sure," Booth agreed with a grin. "I'm a pro; I got a lot of practice with Parker."

"Excellent," Angela said, a sparkle in her eyes. "After a few more weeks of this... I'll need some cooperative babysitters. And you two are at the top of my list."

"Glad to help," Booth said, shifting uncomfortably. He got the distinct impression that Angela was still in the dark about the pregnancy, but that she was aware of at least _something_ that had changed. She was a great judge of people; it wasn't surprising that she'd have picked up on a difference in their relationship. Especially if Brennan had told her that they'd slept together, and that was far more likely than her having told her friend about the baby.

"Alright, so, I hear you've got something from this new case that could use my expertise?"

"Hold on, I'll beam it to you," Brennan said, moving away and shifting the tray so it was under the special camera lens. She adjusted the neck on the device and fitted the zoom properly. The image appeared in the bottom corner of the Angelatron, and Booth knew it was probably filling half the screen on Angela's computer back at her house.

"Alright, so you've got a damaged piece of paper... any signs of ink?"

"Some traces here..." Brennan murmured, adjusting the camera and prying apart another section of the folds with her tweezers.

"Okay, so it's definitely got writing on it. The first thing you're going to want to do is get the rest of it unfolded. Bren, why don't you do that. Booth," she returned her attention to him once more, "I think it would be best if you set up the program. I assume Brennan's already got it open and ready to run?"

"I... yeah, I think so," he said, moving to pick up the tablet that controlled the complex machinery, but not without glancing over his shoulder to find that Brennan had already fully immersed herself in the task her friend had given her.

"Alright, I'm going to give you some basic data to put into the program. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Parker taught me how to use his school's website. I think I can handle anything after that."

She smirked. "Alright. First, I want you to open the tab labeled 'Tools'..."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It was over an hour later when Wendell poked his head into the office and interrupted their process. Both Booth and Brennan were hunched over the small tray, rearranging the camera, when he cleared his throat in the doorway.

They both jumped as one, and turned to him with raised eyebrows.

"I've discovered cause of death, Dr. Brennan," he informed her.

He had come in earlier in the hour, to inform them that he now had access to the body, but they had barely listened to him. Angela had been explaining how to lock the image into the program for analysis at that time, and they had both been absorbed in the task. She hadn't even been bothered about being left out of the examination of the body.

This, though, had her full interest.

She stepped away from the note and snapped off her gloves. "I'll be right out," she assured him, glancing at the empty chair on the web-chat that showed where Angela had been. The baby had started crying not long ago, and Angela had left them to their own devices.

She hesitated, her eyes straying over the progress they had made. The lines were adjusting and focusing with their minor fixes to the camera, and a silent scan was running across in the bottom corner, trying to identify commonalities as they worked.

The ink had run, and the lines were barely recognizable, having moved and dulled after the contact with the bodily fluids and decay juice, but she was sure, now, that they would be able to pull the original message from the mess that they were left with.

As she was standing there, surveying what they had done and considering to herself what they still had left to do, a cell phone went off. Her hand went to her pocket on instinct, but it was Booth's cell, not hers.

"Yeah," he said, pressing it to his ear. He nodded to himself, turning away. "Right. Okay... thanks." He snapped it shut again, and turned to her.

"I know we don't have a positive ID yet, but Kaminski's sister is at the Hoover waiting to be interviewed." He paused, a question in his expression.

"I should probably check in on Wendell's work, and then finish up with the note," Brennan suggested carefully. He nodded in understanding.

"Alright. I'll... see you later."

"Yes. See you later. Keep me in the loop with the interview?"

"Of course. Keep me updated on the evidence?"

She smiled, "You know I will."

"Yeah, I know. Good luck."

"Same to you."

He stood in her doorway for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else, but then he just nodded and let the door shut behind him.

She stood for a long moment, alone in the office, just staring at the door.

"Sweetie?" Angela's voice said from behind her, startling her back into reality.

"Sorry," she said, turning to face her friend. "I was just... thinking."

"...Right," Ange responded, a crease in her brow that said she didn't quite believe that. "Are you ready to get back to work on the note? Where did Booth go?"

"He got a lead on the investigation. And I need to go check on the body; Wendell's found something. But... I think I've got the hang of this. Thanks for your help. We... we miss you around here, you know."

"It hasn't been that long," Angela reminded her teasingly. "And I'll be back before you know it... Hodgins is already talking about staying home half the time so I'm not trapped in the house by myself. But... I can't really imagine leaving Michael. I just... can't be without him. I don't know how I'm ever going to get back to working normal hours," she added with an amazed shake of her head.

"Everything changes, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Angela responded, her eyes narrowing. "Yeah, it does."

She was putting two and two together, and Brennan swallowed. "Alright, I should get going. It was great, getting to see you again. I'll drop by sometime soon and visit. Promise."

"If you don't, I'll call," Angela assured. "I might not be able to go anywhere without him yet, but I could use someone to talk to around here. Someone to keep me from getting addicted to some mind-numbing soap opera. God, save me."

Brennan laughed. "In that case, I'll come by every day if you like."

"You're a great friend, sweetie," Angela answered after a pause, her tone suddenly serious. "...You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Of course," Brennan answered too quickly. "I... need to go, though."

"See you soon," Angela murmured, her eyes still narrowed. She cut off the feed, and Brennan was left staring at the black screen. Running her tongue over her lips, she bit into the pink flesh as her thoughts raced.

She still couldn't tell Angela. Not yet. Soon, though, she promised herself. She would tell her soon. Before she figured it out for herself... although her friend was probably already on that thought track by now.

Sighing to herself, she turned and headed back out onto the platform, where Wendell, Cam, and Hodgins were waiting for her. She had been expecting Wendell, but not the other two.

"What do you have for me?" she asked as she pulled on a clean pair of gloves.

Wendell waited until she was close enough, and then pointed out what he had found.

His gloved finger hovered over the bones as he traced the air and indicated each of the wounds he had located. Three deep cuts into the ribs; obvious evidence of a stabbing.

"This was the fatal blow," he said, indicating a blow that would have gone the closest to the heart. "It would have severed an artery."

"And the other wounds?"

"They were inflicted first; clear evidence that blood was still flowing. Here... and here."

She nodded at each of his identifications.

"Excellent work," she praised, and he beamed. "Is there anything else?"

"Defensive wounds that you noted in your original analysis," he added, pointing out each injury in turn. "Nothing much to suggest he fought back very hard. A blow to the back of the head," he turned the skull to show the cracking, "Suggests he was knocked to the ground. The striations on the bone, and the force that would have been required, also suggest that the stabbing injuries were inflicted while the victim was lying face-up on the floor.

She nodded thoughtfully, and turned expectantly to Cam, who had clearly been awaiting her turn to contribute.

"We've got an ID," she said, tapping a file in her palm. She gestured to it, "Dentals match Nathan Kaminski."

"Booth needs—"

"I already called him," Cam assured her.

"Oh," she said, her eyebrows shooting upwards. "Oh. That's... that's good. Was he... at the Hoover yet?"

"Just pulling in. He was grateful; it will simplify his interview with the sister."

"I'm sure it will," she said, keeping her tone level to hide her disappointment. She had wanted to be the one to call and inform him once the ID went through, and now she felt strangely upset that it had been taken away from her. It was completely irrational, but that didn't seem to be of much consequence as far as her emotions went.

She closed her eyes for a second, grounding herself, and then focused her attention on Hodgins.

"I'm still working on the cat excrement," he informed her. "The laxative started working a little while ago. The ants, on the other hand, told me there was no trace of poison."

"Which toxicology confirms," Cam added. "Not that it matters, what with the fact that he was stabbed to death."

"Alright," she said, glancing back towards the office and suddenly craving solitude. "I should... get back to work on the note. It might provide more information about motive or suspects."

Her team members nodded in agreement, but she could tell they were watching her with concern when she turned her back and walked quickly away. They all looked away when she glanced back as she shut the office door behind her, and she felt her face flush before she moved out of view of the windows and settled herself back into the sanctuary of one of Angela's comfortable chairs with the tablet controls in her lap and the software running on the computer in front of her.

Once she had something definitive on this, she could call it in to Booth.

**I hope to keep my chapters pretty much this length as the story goes on. I love writing long chapters, as my other stories show. Like I said before, though, I'm not ahead on this one. I've barely started Chapter 5, which stresses me out. I'm graduating tomorrow night, however, so that _should_ give me more time to work on this.**

**Share your thoughts with me; they urge me onwards and often give me new ideas for directions I want to take the story in. **


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

_May 29__th__, 2011_

Nathan Kaminski's sister, who introduced herself as Ruth, was far more composed than Anna had been. She stoically rose upon Booth's entrance to the office, and reached out her hand to shake his.

"Very sorry for your loss," he said gently, stepping around his desk to settle into his chair. She straightened her skirt and sat her back into the guest's chair, nodding with a slight sniff.

"So, it is him, then?" she asked, blinking slowly. Her face was pale, but her eyes were dry. Normally, he might have pegged her as a suspect for that detail, but there was something in her demeanor that told him this was her way of coping, much like how Bones handled things. A silent sufferer.

"I'm afraid so," he confirmed for her, pushing his box of tissues across as a sign of courtesy more than anything else. He wasn't sure how long they'd be talking, though, and it was very likely she might need them at some point, from his experience. "I'll have to ask some questions... if you don't mind?"

She waved off his concern and met his gaze firmly with an agreeable nod, waiting for him to begin.

"Were you and your brother in contact?" he started.

"On and off," she answered after a brief hesitation. "You have to understand... he was very dedicated. And not just to his job... it was more like he just _chose_ things to dedicate himself to. You know? One month he'd be obsessed with his work, and the next he would be following some pointless hobby and nearly getting himself fired. But... he was passionate. And I loved him for it."

"And what about in these past few months? Did you see him... often?"

She shook her head regretfully, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. "No," she sighed. "No, I didn't."

He nodded understandingly. "And what was it that Nathan did for work?"

"He was a reporter," she answered easily, straightening up. He could see a flash of pride shoot through her demeanor. "And a damn good one."

He slid a piece of paper and a pen across to her, and she leaned forward automatically to accept them, looking at him questioningly.

"Could you please write the address of his office there? I'll need to speak to his boss and coworkers."

She nodded and reached forward to write, with clear precision in small cursive lettering, the address for him. She slid the paper back across to him, and he nodded and glanced at it before sticking it beside his phone.

"Thank you. Now... I have to ask if you were aware of your brother's relationships."

Her eyes narrowed. "He was seeing a girl steadily, these past few months. What do you mean, _relationships?"_ she questioned, stressing the plural.

"From the evidence we have in the investigation so far... it would appear your brother was involved with more than one woman."

"Impossible," she said at once, scoffing. "He liked women, probably a little _too_ much, but he was very faithful. And he loved Liz; I would know, he didn't often talk so fondly of his girlfriends."

"Does Liz have a last name?" he asked, resisting the urge to childishly cross his fingers.

"Parish," she responded, frowning again. "Why? You don't think she's involved somehow, do you?"

"Did you ever meet her?" he questioned, ignoring what she had asked.

"...No. But I'm telling you, he loved her. He wouldn't have cheated on her."

"Have you ever heard of a woman named Anna Pollack?"

"No," she insisted firmly, leaning forward. "Is she involved? Did _she_ kill him?"

"We can't share details of the investigation. I'm sorry, Ms. Kaminski."

"So... what, then? You think he was having an affair with this Anna woman? Whatever she's said, she's lying. He would never do that."

Booth just nodded. "We're following every lead; we'll find the truth."

"Good. Because the truth will show you that it's all lies. My brother... had many faults. But he was a good man." For the first time, he caught a glimpse of a sparkle in the corner of her eye. She blinked it away, though.

"I believe you," he assured her. And then he passed her his card. "If you remember anything that might help us, please call me."

She nodded and stood, heady for the door. She hadn't shed a single tear.

"Ms. Kaminski?" She turned back with a raised eyebrow. "Thank you for coming, and answering my questions."

Almost begrudgingly, she answered, "You're welcome," and then departed with her head still raised high.

He wondered what Bones would have made of her, but then shook his head. He had a new lead. And with Bones on his mind, he picked up his phone and placed a call straight to her office. With any luck, she'd be back there by now.

When he got no response there, he switched to the more obvious choice, which was her cell phone. This time, he got voicemail. Frowning, he switched tactics and tried Angela's office phone instead.

"This is Dr. Temperance Brennan," she answered, and he smiled to himself, half relieved that she had answered, and half amused at how serious she sounded.

"Hey, Bones."

"Oh!" she said, her surprise palpable. "Booth. I thought I'd be calling you, not the other way around. Has there... been some sort of development?"

"Actually, yes. I've got a name for our missing girlfriend. I'm running her through the system now to get an address," he added, tapping a few keys on his computer and watching as the results began to load.

"Excellent. There's been some progress here as well."

"I'll be by in a few, and you can fill me in, okay?"

"Yes, that sounds good."

He printed the results of his search when he was finished, and skimmed through them before leaving the office and making his way back down to his SUV. He tried not to think about how diplomatic their conversation had been. How... precise and business-like it had sounded. He gave a heavy sigh as he climbed into the driver's seat, and then tried to clear his mind as he started the engine.

Driving usually calmed him, and as such he had taken to roaming the streets all the way to the edges of the city late at night recently. Ever since Hannah had left, actually. In those days, he had spent a lot of time considering his past, and how everything seemed to repeat.

Rebecca had turned down his proposal. Brennan had rejected his offer for a relationship. Hannah had walked away from the ring he'd bought her.

It was the sort of evidence Brennan would have called conclusive. An anthropological pattern of sorts... because he was the common denominator in all of those situations. He was the one offering more to the women in his life, and he was the one that ended up alone at the end of the day. Clearly, he was doing something wrong.

Which was why he was terrified about what was happening now, with Brennan.

She had already turned him away once, and now, a year later, she was pregnant by him after an encounter that neither of them could even _talk _about. What was he supposed to do with that? He couldn't do what he had done with Rebecca, obviously. But... something had to change, eventually. Maybe not now, maybe not even during the pregnancy. But eventually, something had to change. Because if _nothing_ changed... then he was sure he would eventually lose her.

Judging when that conversation needed to happen was the part that he was the most worried about, though. With her, things were complicated. They used to be easier, although they'd never been completely _simple. _

He thought back to the doctor's appointment they had gone to together. It had been fairly straight-forward, but it had brought up some concerns he hadn't even thought of before. He remembered Angela's fears far too well, and the thought that something similar might occur with Brennan was terrifying. Brennan and the doctor had discussed all the possibilities with ease, and he'd felt left-out despite trying to keep up and look like he was following.

And some of it, he had understood. Especially when the questions had turned his way.

There had been some discussion about blood types, and mismatching positives and negatives with possible complications, but he had been able to supply that he was negative, and apparently so was Brennan, because the doctor told them they should have nothing to worry about before she had moved onwards with the discussion.

He had learned a few things he hadn't before, such as that Brennan had already had chicken pox, when she was five years old. She had also gotten vaccines for a whole list of diseases, thanks to her frequent trips to foreign countries, and that took away some other concerns that might have come up. At least, that was the gist of it from the way the questions were being asked. And the doctor had nodded and smiled as she made the necessary marks on her clipboard.

When the discussion had started to wrap up, he had specifically asked about the condition that Hodgins and Angela had feared, and Brennan had supplied the name of it for the doctor, who had assured them she would have tests run on the samples she had already collected for them. Apparently that was the sort of thing they would have checked for to begin with, but it still notched Booth's blood pressure up a bit. He remembered some of this from Rebecca's pregnancy, but she hadn't taken him to her early appointments with her, because those had been shortly after the fiasco with her turning down his proposal, and things had been rough for a while before they had agreed to work through the pregnancy together even without the old component their relationship had held.

Still, the appointment had been fast and Brennan had seem unaffected by all the questions. He wondered now, though, if that was really the case. Something else she could easily be blocking from him.

Regardless, though, the drive to the lab did little for him. It was a short trip to begin with, and the minutes he spent in the small amount of traffic that he encountered didn't do him any good. It wasn't relaxing when he had so much on his mind; when he knew that so much ahead of him could potentially go awry.

There wasn't really anything he could do to change the professional situation that this case put them in, and turn it into something more personal. Brennan wasn't going to let that happen, and he wasn't sure if he dared even show her it was what he wanted. So, if this was his only option for interacting with her, he was going to take whatever he could get.

Not to mention that a good case was usually the best distraction he could hope for.

"Good, you're here," Cam said when he came through the doors. She motioned for him to hurry up and join them on the platform, where the whole team seemed to be gathered around. He jogged up the stairs and took up a position in their makeshift circle around the table which contained the skeleton of their victim. Cam had cleaned him up, and now he was mostly bones. He had yet to take a bath in the boiler to remove all remnants of flesh, though.

"What do you have for me?" he asked, planting a smile on his face that didn't feel real enough as he scanned each of their faces just for the excuse to check on Brennan in particular. She looked calm and business-like, with her hair pulled up tight in a ponytail and her lab jacket buttoned all the way up. He carefully kept his gaze from straying down to her abdomen as he wondered to himself about how this image was going to change in a few months.

"Wendell?" Brennan said, motioning to her intern, who glanced over at her in surprise before hurriedly stepping forward. Booth recognized this; she wasn't avoiding him by not explaining herself. She was pushing Wendell forward because he was nearly at his doctorate and needed to begin stepping up. She had behaved similarly with Zach.

"Death was caused by the third stab wound, found here," he said, moving the camera arm so that the image on the closest flat-screen was that of the damage to the ribs. "There were two other stab wounds, non-fatal, caused just prior to the final blow."

"Any indication of a weapon that might have been used?"

"Most likely a knife, although I have yet to narrow down a specific type."

Booth nodded thoughtfully, going over possibilities in his head. Stabbing, as opposed to shooting, had a different set of motivations behind it. Crime of passion, perhaps, if the knife belonged to Kaminski; or careful planning to minimize noise and give an easier escape.

"What about the note?" he asked, turning his attention to Brennan. She met his gaze easily, as if this were any normal case and there was nothing else going on between them.

"The program was unable to come up with any results. I'm going to have Wendell take over in my absence, so we can go question the girlfriend."

He nodded, hiding his surprise at her bold assumption. The most recent Brennan he knew had been content to avoid him. After her apologies, though, and her attempts to include him, maybe he should have been more expectant of this, of her desire to join in on every facet of the investigation. She wanted inclusion, and she was going to get it.

He smiled, this time truly, and gave her a nod. The look in his eyes would tell her he was glad of her decision, and she seemed to read it well because she smiled back.

Cam cleared her throat, and they both turned quickly away from one another, Brennan's gaze dropping to the lab table in front of her, and Booth's turning to face the coroner.

"I analyzed the stomach contents. Plenty of alcohol, and what appears to be some sort of snack mix. At the very least, pretzels were involved, and I suspect nachos as well, from the evidence of cheese."

"Alright, so he wasn't a healthy guy. No shock there. Was the alcohol in his system enough to disable him?"

"He was drunk, for certain," Cam intoned. "And yes, that might explain the lack of self-defense during the attack. That, and the fact he wasn't wearing any clothing."

"All consistent with his killer being a woman."

Cam nodded in agreement with his assessment, and the rest of the group seemed to follow their logic as well.

"Hodgins?" Booth asked, turning his attention to the entomologist.

"The cats were mildly drunk," he said with a smirk.

"That's it?"

"Hey, man, I can't have something new just because you want me to."

Booth sent him a withering look. "Shouldn't you be home?"

"Shit," the squint hissed under his breath, checking his watch and then shedding his lab coat. "See you guys tomorrow!" he called over his shoulder as he disembarked the platform and made for the exit.

Cam shook her head, chuckling her amusement, and then motioned for the team to get back to work, heading down the other set of stairs and making a line for her own office.

Wendell headed to Angela's office to take over decoding the origins of the note, and all of a sudden Booth and Brennan were alone together on their section of the platform.

"I got the address for the missing girlfriend. Liz Parish, her name turned out to be."

"So the sister knew her?" Brennan queried, unbuttoning her lab coat and tilting her head questioningly, her eyes capturing his in typical fashion.

"Uh, yeah. Sort of," he said, swallowing.

And then... he could have sworn he saw her smile. A slight tilt of her lips, like she knew what she was doing as she undid the last of the buttons. But then it was gone, and she draped the coat over her chair, not even bothering with the trip to her office as she pulled out her ponytail and turned her gaze back towards him on the way towards the steps. _Are you coming?_ she was asking.

He hurried to catch up, taking the stairs evenly with her.

"From what the sister told me, Liz probably knows nothing about the affair with Anna. Or any of the other women we don't know about yet," Booth filled her in as they exited the lab and headed for the elevator. "She swears up and down that her brother was an honest guy who would never cheat on his girlfriend."

"The evidence suggests otherwise," Brennan responded with a raised eyebrow.

"Exactly. She wasn't happy with my suggestion about his multiple relationships, but she gave my Liz's name and the name and address of the newspaper he reported for, so we can check into that first thing tomorrow."

She nodded in acceptance, glancing at her watch and confirming what she probably already knew. It was getting late, and this would have to be their last interview of the evening.

Brennan reached her side of the SUV before he reached his, and climbed in with him following suit close behind. He had half-expected it to be another silent trip, but she surprised him by continuing the conversation and telling him about the troubles she had encountered with the reconstruction software.

"Does Angela know you left her equipment in the hands of Wendell?" Booth questioned teasingly as they hit a red light, glancing over to grin at her.

"No, actually," she answered, ducking her head slightly, with a somewhat guilty expression on her face. "He understands, though, that if he damages anything than he's pretty much doomed. By Angela _and_ by me."

He chuckled. "Terrify him, why don't you?"

"I don't know what he did to it last time," Brennan said by way of explanation. "But Angela wasn't happy about it. I suspect a large part of that involved the fact that she was in labor... but still, he'll know better this time around. I just... made sure he was aware."

"Huh. 'Aware.' So, that's what they call 'threatening' nowadays?"

She shot him in indignant look and gave his shoulder a shove by way of response, which only made him laugh more.

The apartment building they pulled up in front of us was nice—it had a doorman posted out front in a crisp uniform, and an awning leading out over the stairs. The front was brick, and the windows had flower arrangements.

Booth gave it an appraising look as they climbed out of the SUV and crossed the street.

As the stepped up onto the sidewalk, the streetlights flickered on, giving an indication of the hour.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI," Booth informed the doorman when they got close enough. He unhooked his badge from his belt and held it out, giving it the usual flip to show his ID after the man had leaned forward to squint at the badge itself. "We're looking for Liz Parish."

The younger man's eyebrows shot up. "Liz? Really?"

"We'll need her apartment number," Brennan broke in, crossing her arms.

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to ask more questions, but then he shut it again and swallowed before he told them they could find her in 3A.

Booth nodded his thanks and led the way inside, which was just as fancy as he'd been expecting. The lobby was also brickwork, and flowers adorned the corners in crisp arrangements. The elevator doors were a goldenrod color and shone as Booth reached forward to hit the button for the third floor.

"Not bad," he muttered, and Brennan nodded in agreement, her eyes straying around as they waited.

A soft _ding_ announced the arrival of the elevator car, and the doors slowly slid open and permitted them access. The ride up was the silent one Booth had been expecting the ride over to be. It seemed they had run out of non-dangerous topics to discuss with one another, and it wasn't a comfortable quiet between them. She shifted and kept adjusting her necklace or spinning her dolphin ring on her finger, and he rocked back and forth on his heels and stared up at the pattern on the ceiling.

Finally the car settled into place and announced their arrival as the doors shifted open again. Brennan was the first one out, and she didn't meet his eyes as she turned to again lead the way up the hallway. He followed behind at a slower pace, understanding that she wanted to avoid him. She probably thought he was going to address the awkwardness between them, and he couldn't blame her for wanting to stave off that conversation. He didn't want to have it anymore than she did, although an actual sit-down discussion would still be nice at _some_ point.

"Here it is," she said obviously, when she reached the last apartment in the hallway. Booth caught up, and took out his badge before rapping a few times on the door.

Footsteps inside told them she was home, and then there was a pause and Booth could see a shadow under the door indicating she was standing on the opposite side. A moment later a woman's voice with a slight Spanish accent called out, "Who's there?"

He held up his badge to the peephole. "FBI, ma'am."

"What do you want?" came the rapid response.

"We're here about your boyfriend, Nathan Kaminski. We have a few questions."

There was another pause, and then they heard a deadbolt slide across, and she opened the door. Her eyebrows were raised as she peered out at them. She had high cheek bones and dark eyes, and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Her complexion told him she was most likely from Latin America, or perhaps South America. Brazil or Chile, perhaps.

"What about Nate?" she questioned, her eyes narrowed.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news," he answered carefully, returning her gaze coaxingly. "Would you mind... letting us in? I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, and this..." he stepped to the side so the woman could turn to look at Brennan more directly, "Is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian Institute."

"What does that mean?" she demanded coarsely.

"I'm a forensic anthropologist who works in tandem with the FBI," Brennan supplied for her. Her words went straight over the other woman's head, because Liz opened her mouth, shaking her head slightly and turning back to Booth with her brow furrowed.

"What happened? Is Nate in trouble?" she asked, returning to the basics.

Booth hesitated. He'd prefer if he could have her sit down in her living room while he told her the details, but clearly that wasn't going to happen.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Nathan... was found in his apartment this morning. I'm afraid he was murdered."

"Murdered?" she whispered raggedly. "Oh my God..." Slowly, she leaned against the door and pushed it further open. As a tear slid down her cheek, she stumbled aside and motioned for them to come in.

"Thank you," Booth murmured gently. "Maybe we could... sit down and talk?"

"Of course," she stammered. "I can... I'll get some tea..."

Booth glanced at Brennan, who understood his silent suggestion far more easily than he'd been expecting. "I can take care of that," she said, stepping forward.

"Oh. Oh... thank you."

Brennan nodded, shooting Booth an anxious look before she slipped into the kitchen. He watched her begin to quietly shuffle through the cabinets in search of tea bags, and then turned his full attention back to the distraught girlfriend, who had settled onto the couch. He took the chair across from her, and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and speaking gently.

"How long did you know Mr. Kaminski?"

"Four months," she answered quickly, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She was regaining her composure rapidly, and seemed to be dealing with the news as calmly as she could. Still, she gave a few sniffles as he asked his next question.

"And... you were dating, those four months?"

"Yes, yes... he interviewed me for an article about my business—I run a chocolate shop downtown. It's doing very well, and some big names have started placing orders. His newspaper asked him to write a piece on it, and he was just... so _charming_. He's really... he's really dead? And someone _killed_ him?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Did you know of anyone who might have... threatened him? Anything he was working on that might put him in danger? Anything in his personal life... old acquaintances that just came back into his life, things like that?"

"No, nothing like that," she said, shaking her head rapidly. In the other room, a kettle began to whistle. Booth heard Brennan bustling about, and the clinking of cups. "But..." she said suddenly, frowning before shaking her head.

"What is it?"

"He mentioned someone at work that he wasn't getting along with. They got in a fight, but I can't remember his name. His boss, though... his boss should know. He had to break them up."

"Alright, thank you. We'll look into it. Anything else you can think of?"

"No," she sighed regretfully, dabbing at her eyes a little more, although she was no longer crying.

"That's fine. If you think of anything... here's my card."

She nodded and accepted it, tucking it into a note-holder on the coffee table between them. Brennan stepped back in at that moment, and carefully handed a steaming mug to the other woman, who smiled gratefully and blew into it before giving a tentative sip. He noted that she hadn't gotten a cup for herself, and Liz saw it as well.

"What about you?" she questioned, almost looking like she was ready to get to her feet.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," Brennan assured.

"I feel silly, that you just made me tea," Liz said with a soft tittering laugh. It was a calm sound, and Booth noted it with appreciation. This was a complicated woman, but not one that let things knock her down. She and Brennan seemed to acknowledge a sort of kindled spirit between them, because they shared a look before the other woman nodded and turned to her tea once more. "It's quite good," she commented. "What did you do to it?"

Brennan shrugged, color rising slightly into her cheeks. "I added some honey, and a few spices I found in your kitchen."

"Hmm," the other woman murmured, taking another long sip.

"Do you know what he was working on; any current projects he might have mentioned?" Booth asked, drawing the focus back to the investigation.

"I don't know what it was, but he was... very absorbed in something, recently. He spent a lot of time writing, and a lot of time going over his notes. But he told me he didn't want me involved." Her eyes widened. "I assumed he was going after a big lead. If he didn't want me to know... do you think that's why he was killed? Someone didn't want him to finish it?"

"That's a very good possibility. Where did he keep his research?"

"He had a notebook... but most of it was on his laptop."

Booth and Brennan shared a look.

"What?" Liz asked at once.

"There wasn't a laptop in his apartment," Booth explained, and her eyes widened.

"That's it, then, isn't it? God, I told him... I told him to be _careful_..."

"Does the name Anna Pollack sound familiar to you?" he tried, switching tactics. He could leave this whole line out of it, and never tell her. But something made him think she would want to know the full story. That she wouldn't appreciate being kept in the dark. And there was a good chance she was going to find out eventually. It was better if she didn't think he had lied to her, in case she did think of something else later on that could help the investigation.

"No," she answered, frowning. "Who's she?"

Booth swallowed. "She was at the crime scene, Ms. Parish. She was claiming to be Nathan's girlfriend."

Liz laughed then, a dark, hollow sound, and she gazed imploringly up at the ceiling as she clutched the crumpled tissue in her hands, twisting the edges.

"Of course," she muttered.

"You... suspected he was seeing other women?"

"I always suspect my boyfriend's are seeing other women," she corrected. "You might call me... paranoid, but I've seen my fair share of bad relationships. Mine and my mother's."

Booth nodded regretfully, but it was Brennan who said, "I'm sorry."

She shrugged it off. "Hey... it was fun while it lasted, right? I just... I wish I'd found out, you know? Before he got himself killed," she added with another humorless laugh. "I hate to say it, because I sound like... one of those women... but I think there was a lot of good in him. Even if he was cheating on me. Maybe a dose of reality... would have done him some good. Now... I won't get that chance."

They didn't stay long after that, even though Liz tried to insist that they sit and drink some of the tea. Booth felt bad, leaving her after dumping so much on her at once, but she seemed composed and she promised to call if she thought of anything else that might help them.

As they were getting out of the elevator, Brennan's cell went off, and she answered with her brisk, "Brennan."

She listened for a while, asking a question every now and again, and nodding to herself while Booth stood patiently off to the side. Finally, she hung up and turned to Booth.

"Hodgins," she said by way of explanation. "He went back to the lab; something about Angela being in a bad mood... but he said the owner of the cats just came by, and demanded to have them back."

Booth grinned, "Oh, I'd have loved to see that."

"Why?" she asked, although she was smiling, too, caught up in his amusement.

"Because she's probably slightly crazy, Bones. And Hodgins probably didn't want to let his evidence go loose."

"He said he had to let her take them," Brennan answered, raising an eyebrow. "He'd already gotten all the evidence he needed, and she was very insistent. She's got a brother whose a lawyer, too, and she wouldn't be quiet about him."

"Of course not. But what else did he want?"

"What makes you think there was something else?"

Booth chuckled. "Because I heard half the conversation."

The corner of her lip twitched upwards. "Right. Well, he says she was talkative; she slept with our victim as well. _And_ she said there was another woman she knew about, named Tania."

"It never ends with this guy."

"And," Brennan continued, stressing the word and raising an eyebrow. "This Tania is married."

"Ah," he agreed, copying her expression and beginning to lead the way back towards the door. "Looks like we've just gained another motive, doesn't it, Bones?"

**A/N: I was slightly disheartened by the lack of response on the last chapter, and barely got this one finished in time. It's nice to know if people are reading or not, and it really does motivate me to write, so give me a shout. Just a click away...**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Alright, you guys were amazing last chapter :) I'm going to try and respond to each and every review from now on. Promise. Thank you all so much. **

**A note for this chapter: I know Angela and Hodgins got a new place, but I have an attachment to their mansion, and I use it in all my stories. I really like it, and I have a picture of it in my head complete with how I think it would be laid out inside... so I'm sticking with the mansion regardless of how the canon goes.  
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_Chapter 6_

_May 30__th__, 2011_

Brennan found herself running late, when morning rolled around. For the first time in what was probably years, she had hit the dreaded snooze button. The action in itself had very nearly propelled her from the bed, but after a few seconds of thought, she had pulled the covers back up over her head and dropped her face back into the pillow heavily.

And so, now, an hour later, she was shuffling through her kitchen trying to find a coffee travel mug that _didn't_ leak while she attempted to towel dry her sopping head of hair. As luck would have it, her dryer picked this morning to die. One second, she was combing through her hair and aiming it at the mirror to clear a patch so she could see what she was doing, and the next it was sputtering and going silent.

She had very nearly thrown it at the wall.

Last night... had been a late night. But she only partially regretted that fact.

Booth had wanted to talk, and she had _known_ he wanted to talk... but with the case weighing on her mind and a long week probably still ahead of them, she had been looking for an excuse. Hodgins had told her he was back at the lab late because Angela was in a bad mood, and she used this as both an excuse to avoid Booth, and a reason to visit her friend.

It was not something Booth could argue about, when she told him of her plans as he let her out at her apartment. He had been ready to climb out and bring her to her door, where he probably would have found a way to come inside and then discuss the baby, but at her insistence that she needed to do this, he nodded with understanding and left the car running as she got out and went around.

_ "I'll see you tomorrow!" he called as she headed up the stairs to her apartment, her bag slung over her shoulder. She nodded and waved a cheerful farewell before ducking quickly inside. _

_ After changing her outfit and dumping her things on the chair by the door, she left once again, feeling drained but determined with her keys clutched in her hand._

_ Hodgins hadn't returned yet when Brennan pulled into the driveway at her best friend's home. The mansion was mostly dark, but light was streaming through the front windows where Brennan knew the living room was located. She cut the engine and climbed out into the chill air of night. The sky was dark now, and out here, among the trees and the long well-paved streets that made up the ritzy neighborhood, she could see the starts beginning to twinkle overhead._

_ Clearly, Angela had been watching, because Brennan didn't even get the chance to knock before the door opened. _

_ "Hey," Angela said, smiling wearily. Her long hair was falling out of a messy ponytail, and she looked mildly disheveled. Dark circles under her eyes indicated that she hadn't slept well in quite some time._

_ "Hey," Brennan echoed, returning the smile hesitantly. She didn't need to ask, because Angela stepped out of the way immediately and motioned for her to come inside. She nodded gratefully and stepped over the threshold, sliding her shoes off in favor of going barefoot on the warm carpeting, like Angela._

_ "He's sleeping," Angela explained, leading the way towards the kitchen. "For now, at least," she added ruefully, shaking her head and removing the coffee pot from it's holder as she simultaneously reached up to unhook a mug from the rack over the stove. The liquid steamed as she poured it, and Brennan realized she had probably only made it recently. Her assumption was confirmed when Angela picked up a second mug that Brennan hadn't noticed at first and took a sip from it herself as she held the fresh cup out to her friend. She accepted it thankfully._

_ They drifted into the living room, where Brennan found a collection of baby items strewn across every surface. Toys, still in their packages, littered the couch, and clothing items were in various locations. Brennan couldn't help but raise a questioning eyebrow, and Angela sighed heavily, blowing a piece of hair out of her face as she dropped into one of the few open chairs._

_ "I procrastinated getting organized," she said, wincing. "Turns out, it's pretty hard to do it after you have the kid. I sort of... blew up at Hodgins about it earlier. I was watching for him when I saw you pull in."_

_ "He went to the lab," Brennan told her, and she nodded._

_ "I figured as much. How's the... case going?"_

_ "Good," Brennan said, but there was enough hesitation there to make Angela's eyes narrow. "We've... got several possible suspects, and the evidence is giving plenty of clues..." she tried to continue, to salvage the conversation. But Ange wasn't listening, and she knew it._

_ "Is something wrong, Bren?"_

_ Brennan opened her mouth to respond with a firm denial, but a sudden cry from over their heads effectively distracted both of them from any notions of continuing. Angela was on her feet at once, and Brennan quickly followed. She half expected her friend to tell her to stay downstairs, that she should just relax while she handled it, Angela gave her a curious look and then lead the way up the stairs. _

_ Brennan's gut churned._

_ At the sight of little Michael—her god-son, she reminded herself—her concerns melted away. He was fussing and rolling side to side, his face pinched up as he gave another high-pitched wail. _

_ Angela seemed to know by instinct what was wrong, because she lifted him from the crib and held him gently, patting his back lightly as she rocked him on her way over to the changing table. Brennan stayed silently by the door, her hand rested on the frame and her legs stiff and frozen._

_ "Bren," Angela said, drawing her out of her blank staring. "Could you get me a wipe..?"_

_ At once, she stepped forward and swiftly pulled one from the pack beside the table, handing it over to her friend. After a momentary struggle during which Brennan felt useless, Angela had the fresh diaper secured, and she cooed softly to the baby as she lifted him again into her arms._

_ "Do you want to hold him, sweetie?" Angela asked, raising her eyebrows at her friend and moving closer. _

_ "I... yes. I would love to," Brennan answered at once, a smile spreading warmly across her features. Although still fussing slightly, Michael was much calmed. His face was still wrinkled and red, but he was no longer crying and the color was starting to fade back to a healthier shade._

_ Carefully, Angela fixed him in her arms so that he was angled better, and then held him out to her friend, who gently accepted him, crooking him in her arms so his head was propped up and his small body was cradled properly. He fit almost perfectly, like a puzzle piece, and he was warm. As she rocked him slightly, he twisted and squirmed, a tiny arm reaching up and just coming short of brushing her chin. She smiled, her eyes immediately moving up to find Angela's. _

_ Her friend laughed softly, her head tilted to the side and her eyes dancing. _

_ "He already likes you," she murmured._

_ Brennan nodded almost disbelievingly, turning her attention back to the baby._

_ He had opened his eyes, and blinked up at her, his expression gone from distaste to the quiet wonder that only babies can show. His tiny mouth was open and his cheeks were chubby. He reached his hand up again, and she dipped her head this time so his tiny hand could land on her chin, clutching at it and then falling loose to settle for the easier grip of her shirt collar._

_ "He's beautiful," she whispered. "And already curious, too," she added with a laugh._

_ "A squint in the making, at only a few days old," Angela chuckled. "I wonder if Hodgins got it this young."_

_ "I bet he was one of those kids that ate bugs."_

_ "Oh, I bet he was," she agreed. "I wish he had some family alive still... I'd love to hear stories."_

_ "I feel the same way," Brennan murmured, almost to herself rather than her friend._

_ "Sweetie?" Angela asked curiously after a few seconds passed in silence._

_ She glanced up, biting her lip and half-hoping Angela wasn't going to ask the obvious question. But of course she was._

_ "What do you mean by that?"_

_ "Nothing," she answered with a shrug, dropping her eyes._

_ "Hm," Angela responded disapprovingly, and then carefully stepped forward to take her son back from her. It was a gentle motion, and Brennan knew it wasn't meant to feel like rejection. But it did, regardless. Her arms felt cold as they dropped back to her sides. "Come on," Angela said, her voice a whisper as she checked one last time on her son's position in the cradle before she flipped the switch and turned the lights off, leading the way back out and towards the stairs._

_ The uncomfortable feeling returned to her gut long before they settled into their seats in the living room once more and reclaimed their coffee mugs._

_ "You meant Booth, right?" Angela asked, raising an eyebrow._

_ Brennan ran her tongue over her lips, considering her options. And then she sighed, and gave in with a heavy nod._

_ Angela was silent for a while, a thoughtful, contemplative look on her face as she sipped from her steaming mug. Brennan tried to focus on her own drink, but her heart was racing without her permission, and she felt like there was a good chance she wasn't going to be leaving this house tonight without telling Angela the full truth._

_ Was that such a bad thing, though? _

_ Because she really wanted to tell her. Had wanted to tell her every since she'd discovered it for herself, in fact. _

_Maybe it would be better once it was out there, the way it had been better when she had finally told Booth. And Angela would have advice. Angela could help her with this; would _love_ to help her with this, actually. _

_ "Have you two talked?" she asked finally, breaking the silence and making Brennan jump slightly in her seat._

_ "Uh... no. Not... not really."_

_ Angela regarded her for another moment, and she knew the question before it even exited her friend's mouth. Could feel it hanging in the air, waiting to be spoken._

_ "Are you pregnant, Brennan?"_

_ It was soft, but probing. It was a question, but at the same time an offer. _I won't judge, sweetie. Just tell me the truth.

_ Her silence was enough of an answer, and Angela's eyes widened with every second that ticked past loudly on the suddenly very obvious clock on the mantelpiece. _

_ "Yeah," she choked out at last, a nervous laugh breaking loose much like it had on the night she had told Booth out on that sidewalk. "Yeah, Ange. I am."_

_ Angela's mouth fell open, and Brennan guessed that she probably would have shouted if it weren't for the baby sleeping upstairs. Much like she had wanted to shout that day in the lab, when Brennan had admitted to sleeping with Booth. Only this time, all words were failing her. _

_ She stammered, shaking her head, her eyes wide and shimmering with happiness. And then she seemed to give up on speaking, because she swept forward and pulled Brennan from the other chair so she could wrap her arms around her in a crushing embrace._

_ "Congratulations," she whispered in her ear. "Congratulations, sweetie..."_

She hadn't thought it would make such a difference, but telling Angela... had already started to have an effect. With her friend in the loop, the weight had lifted fully off of her shoulders for a while. She hated that it hadn't done so with Booth, and a guilty pull had positioned itself in her gut, but she was still glad.

When Hodgins had arrived, as had been inevitable, Brennan had bid her farewell. Not before Angela had forcibly gifted several pregnancy books to her, however.

Hodgins would know by now, of course. Brennan assumed Angela would have told him regardless, but she had mentioned, just before he came up the driveway, that she could share with him. It would make things easier, because the one person Angela couldn't hide anything from was her husband.

They were the only ones who could know, though, and Brennan had made that clear. She didn't want the entirety of the lab whispering about it. She wanted the chance to tell them on her own terms, and she already felt bad that Booth wasn't involved. He had promised not to tell anyone when she told him she wanted it kept quiet, and here she was... telling people herself.

She hadn't even considered how he felt about it. Did he want people to know, or did he prefer the situation she had originally envisioned?

As she finally made her way towards the door, digging her keys out of her bag and locking the apartment up behind her, she wondered if she should tell him that Angela knew. Probably, in case it came up. He deserved to be aware of every change in the situation, too, and it would be unfair to keep him in the dark.

What if he had people he wanted to tell, like his brother?

She shouldn't have restricted him.

Which was part of the reason she was glad he hadn't offered to pick her up this morning. The time alone was refreshing, and she relished the drive to the office and the feel of the smooth tires rolling beneath her as she guided her latest 'gift' from her publisher out into traffic.

Booth wasn't at the lab when she pulled in, and she scanned the parking lot thoroughly in case he had parked somewhere different for once before she headed towards the elevator. He was probably at his office, running down his own leads. She quelled the latest surge of guilt at her relief.

There was a time when she would have been secretly upset that he wasn't present in her morning routine. But now, with the pregnancy hanging over her and her added guilt over the whole thing... she was happy not to have to face him. She was stalling, pushing back the inevitable, and she knew it.

"Good morning," Wendell greeted her as she came through the sliding glass doors.

She nodded in response, and headed up to the platform. Cam was waiting for her, with Hodgins standing by, preoccupied by an image on one of the monitors.

"What do we have?" she asked, collecting her lab coat from where she had left it the night before and pulling it on along with a fresh ponytail.

"I came in early this morning. Figured I'd contribute." Cam explained, turning to point towards the monitor, where Brennan now recognized the note from the day before. In green lines, the words that had previously been indistinguishable now glowed.

"Culver 430 FF," Brennan read slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"It doesn't mean anything to you either, does it?" Hodgins questioned, turning to face their small group just as Wendell climbed up to join them.

She pursed her lips regretfully and shook her head. "No. Is it code, do you think?"

"Doubtful," Cam interjected. "It looks more to me like a note that would make a lot of sense to our victim... like something he wrote down to remind himself of something. It could be an address; Culver could be a street, 430 the number, and FF the apartment?"

"Or reversed," Brennan posited. "Culver could be a name, and FF an abbreviation of some sort."

"True," Cam reasoned. "We have no way of knowing until we narrow down the possibilities, though. Angela was up early as well; she gave me and Wendell some help, and we've got a program checking any correlations between these three."

"The number is the most significant," Brennan pointed out. "Culver _or_ FF could be a name, and that might not connect to the address, if it's a public place."

"We've taken that into account. It would be best, obviously, to have a result that fit all three parameters. But the program is also looking for strong links between two, such as if a Culver lives at an address with 430, and the same with an FF abbreviation. Or even a 430 with an apartment building that uses double lettering."

"There could be thousands of results," Brennan murmured, frowning.

"Yes, well, we're praying otherwise," Cam replied heavily.

She glanced towards Hodgins, feeling his eyes on her, and he grinned widely. Self-consciously, she flicked her gaze away once again, feeling some color rise into her cheeks.

"Has their been any progress on the murder weapon?" she asked quickly, her attention focused on Wendell.

"We're narrowing down possibilities," he answered, shifting uncomfortably.

Her and Cam cast each other mirrored looks.

"Alright. I think... I'll hide in my office today," Cam said after a long pause. "I'd prefer not to get covered in melon guts again. Once was... _plenty." _She turned her attention back to Brennan. "Is Booth coming by soon? I was going to call him, but I figured I'd wait for him to show himself. He'll want to know about this as soon as possible, and I'm hoping we'll have some results up when he drops in..."

"I don't know, actually," she answered. "But... I'm sure he'll come by soon. He always does, after all."

Cam nodded. "Of course. Are you two checking out the newspaper today?"

"That seems to be the most likely course of action."

She nodded once again, and then departed for her office. Hodgins murmured a few words to Wendell, and Brennan caught a few like 'experiment' and 'cantaloupe' before the intern jogged off and disappeared into the entomologist's office space.

Which left her and the bug man alone on their section of the platform. He glanced around quickly before engulfing her in a quick hug. He stepped back smoothly afterwards, and grinned. "Congrats," he said simply, and she laughed.

"Thank you, Jack," she murmured.

He waved her off, "Thank _you_, actually. Your visit last night... was very appreciated. Angie's been missing you a lot, and seeing you really cheered you up. Not to mention the news that you had for her."

"Is she coming by to visit the lab sometime this week?" Brennan asked curiously. "She mentioned that she might try, but that she was going to talk to you about it."

"Yeah, I think she is, actually," Hodgins said, but his smile was tense. "She's going to see if she can come by on Thursday. I don't know how long she'll stay... but it looks like I'll be on solo duty with the baby. If she trusts me that long."

Brennan smiled sympathetically, and then ran her tongue over her lips before speaking, barely understanding where the words were coming from. "She trusts you, Hodgins. She's just... a mother. And I think she wants to be the one around the baby so much because she can't bear to be away from him. Not because she doesn't want you to be alone with him."

He smirked, but his eyes had regained their sparkle, and he playfully pushed her shoulder. "Right. And you're still claiming to hate psychology, aren't you?"

"It is a soft science," she answered with a shrug, grinning back innocently. Even she had to admit that her analysis was more psychological than anthropological. But that didn't mean she was going to say it out loud.

A beeping from the computer announced that it had reached a conclusion, and both scientists turned towards it.

There were only two results on the screen.

An obituary for a man named Joseph Culver, with the service held at 430 Orchard Rd several years back, and a bakery at 430 Franklin Fuller Way.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to comment on how unlikely it was that these results meant anything, footsteps announced that she had missed the doors opening.

"Got something good?" Booth asked as she glanced over her shoulder.

"Hey," she greeted him, and then gestured at the screen, which he squinted at with a frown. "A funeral home and a bakery. Great."

"The funeral home is extraneous," Hodgins supplied before Brennan could beat him to it. "It was four years ago, and the connection is... tenuous. I'd say it's either the bakery... or our search didn't come up with what we're looking for. This isn't an exact science."

Booth nodded. "Alright then, bakery it is."

Hodgins was smiling suddenly, and Brennan cast him a warning look that immediately quenched his good-humor. He gave her a questioning look, glancing back and forth between her and Brennan, and she decided that now would be a good time to leave. Before he said something that gave her away. The last thing she needed was for Booth to find out, from Hodgins himself, that she'd told some of the others without notifying him.

She needed to tell him, but she'd prefer to do it on her own terms.

"Should we... check out the bakery, then?" she suggested to Booth, hoping he would agree. The ride would give her a chance to fill him in, as well as take stock of how things were. The roller coaster was killing her, and she suspected it wasn't having any good effects on him either. She wished they were more level... that they knew what they were doing, that they could stop dancing around each other. She wished she knew how to handle this properly. She wished she could read his mind so she would know if she was going about it the right way. So she would know how things _really_ stood.

If only.

"Yeah, let's go," he said, grinning at her in that way that made his eyes crinkle. She smiled back, relief coursing through her. And not just because he was agreeing. Because... she was starting to miss him. Avoiding him this morning had had more consequences than she had thought it had, because now, seeing him... made her want to stay with him.

Maybe she should start addressing things more with him. To get them to that solid ground she so desperately wanted.

She shed her lab coat again, leaving it where she had found it this morning, and walked beside him towards the exit. She could feel Hodgins' eyes on her as she went, and she tried to brush it off, but she knew he had questions now. It felt like everyone had questions, and clearly Angela hadn't informed him, in her excitement, that Booth shouldn't know that they'd been filled in on the details.

"Did you already have breakfast this morning?" he questioned as they climbed into the SUV.

"Granola bar," she answered. "I was planning on grabbing an early lunch, though."

"How about some pastry?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"You don't think this lead is going anywhere, do you?" she tossed back at him.

He sighed. "No, not really. I mean... it's a bakery, Bones. Our victim could have been planning to meet someone there, but the odds of finding anything at the actual bakery? Slim."

"But you brought pictures," she pointed out, holding up the file he had tossed in her lap.

"Yeah, well, it's always a good idea. See if they recognize anyone involved in our case. Might give us an idea of who he was supposed to be meeting."

"Assumably, someone named Culver," Brennan pointed out. "If the bakery is even correct, which it might not be."

"Ah, but you see, that's why we're getting pastry. If we don't have any luck... at least we'll have some food. And you need to be eating breakfast," he added, glancing sharply at her abdomen as he hit the brake for a red light.

Just like that, they were on the subject. Her gut clenched, but she couldn't justify it if she didn't speak up. It would be cowardly.

"I went to see Angela last night," she informed him.

"I know," he replied nonchalantly, although she suspected he knew there was going to be more to this story.

"She asked me if I was pregnant," she said, getting straight to the point. She could have explained the whole story, but she figured this was the best way to go about it. To just tell him upfront.

"I figured she'd be the first one to guess at it," Booth said, laughing slightly and shaking his head. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her the truth," Brennan answered, watching him closely. He seemed almost... amused, rather than upset. Which she supposed was a good sign.

"Good," he answered. "And then she told Hodgins, which is why he was acting so weird around me this morning?"

"You noticed that?" she asked, baffled.

"Everyone always forgets the _Special_. It's _Special_ Agent, Bones."

She ran her tongue over her lips. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked, a frown drawing his brows together in confusion.

"For telling Angela without consulting you. I know that... we agreed to keep this quiet."

He gave her an incredulous look. "Bones... you can tell whoever you want. All of that... is up to you."

He was only making her more confused. "But we... we agreed..."

"I agreed not to tell anyone at your request. I never said you had to keep quiet about it, Bones. I want you... to do this however you want. At whatever pace you like."

Inexplicably, she felt a wave of anger come over her, and she snapped her mouth shut before she let on how quickly her emotions had just changed. She turned her head to look out the window, and fell silent.

"Bones?" he asked gently, after the seconds had ticked by long enough for him to get concerned.

She closed her eyes, unwilling to turn around, but finally shifted and tilted her head in his direction to meet his gaze. He would only keep asking if she didn't give him some sort of response.

"You okay?" he questioned once it was clear she wasn't going to speak of her own volition.

"Fine," she replied heavily, her stare challenging him to question her on it.

He sighed, but turned his eyes back to the road.

She was being unfair, and she knew it, but she couldn't quench the sudden fury she felt towards him. Why did he have to do that all the time? Why did he have to be so... self-sacrificing? Didn't he realize that she didn't _want _that? That she _hated_ him putting himself in front of her, as if she was more valuable than him? And not just figuratively, but literally as well. He was always protecting her, always trying to shield her. Stepping in front of bullets and going into buildings ahead of her, even if they both had guns.

She hated him for it, in those moments of fear.

And she realized now, that she felt the same trappings that came with those situations. Like he was preparing to give up something big for her, something she didn't want him to, something that would leave her forever dreading the world that would follow.

They should be equals in this. They should be dealing with this pregnancy together. And she had been pushing him away and pulling him close so much that she had probably confused him as to her intent. A part of the anger was aimed at herself, as well, and she recognized this, too.

She could try and say that she was the one trying to protect him, or she could even go ahead and blame it on the hormones and the overwhelming emotions that came with being pregnant. The fear.

But she refused to do so, because she wasn't going to give herself that exit.

Even then, though, something else was going on with Booth to make him think he needed to give her all this leverage, all this freedom that he wasn't allowing to himself in turn. Clearly there was something she was missing in his thought process, and that scared her too.

There was so much that she didn't understand. So much that she wished she could grasp. And it was all out of her reach.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the trip, and she could tell Booth was lost as deeply in thought as she was. She wondered what he was thinking about, but didn't ask.

Once they climbed out of the SUV at the bakery, though, they returned to something close to normal. It was a bit forced, and they mostly avoided eye contact, but after he started asking questions of the manager, she felt herself relax and could see that he had as well. This was what they needed to be doing. This made them themselves.

"Never heard of him," the young woman who owned the bakery told them, shaking her head. "And I'm here most days."

"How about these?" he asked, passing her the pictures of Anna and Liz. Again, she shook her head.

"No, I'm sorry. What is this about?"

"Just following a lead on an investigation, ma'am."

"Hm. Well, you can ask my staff, but if I ain't seen them, they probably ain't either."

"Alright, thanks. Could we... get something to eat, as well?"

"Pick what you like. You can even have law enforcement discount."

He nodded, and then turned to Brennan. "What do you want, Bones?"

She stared at him for a moment, and then bit her lip and turned to the display case. "I'll just... I'll have a raspberry turnover."

"Okay, and I'll have one of those bear claws."

"Coffee?" the woman asked.

"Tea," Brennan corrected. "But... Booth can have coffee. If he wants." She glanced at him, and he nodded.

"Alrighty. Grab a table, you two," she said heavily. "I'll show these to the staff," she added, collecting the pictures from the countertop.

Booth hesitated, and then nodded in agreement before leading the way towards a table that had just opened up next to the window.

"Do you want to talk?" he suggested openly when they were settled.

She bit into her lip again, considering his proposal.

And then she chose a halfway answer.

"You can tell whoever you want, about the pregnancy."

He frowned. "Is that what's got you so upset?"

A waitress came around and put their pastries in front of them, pouring Booth his coffee and promising to return with Brennan's tea. It saved her from answering.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to keep it a secret because of me." Especially if he thought _she_ should be able to tell anyone she liked. "So if you want to tell Jared, or Pops, or even Cam and the others... then you can."

He smiled disbelievingly. At first, she thought it was because he was glad he could tell people, but then he spoke and that idea sputtered out like a dying candle. "I don't care, Bones. I don't care who knows... all that matters to me is that we know. So, if you want to tell people, we will. But... it doesn't matter to me, how long we wait."

She almost groaned in frustration. Why did he keep saying it like that? Why did he keep deferring to her to make the decisions? He usually made decisions for himself, and the change was... wrong. It made her question everything all over again, and wonder if he was being himself at all around her through this. What was he doing?

"Fine," she answered dismissively. If that's what he wanted, then he could have it. She didn't want to discuss it anymore.

The waitress returned with her steaming cup of tea, and she thanked her and blew on it before taking a cautious sip. Just like that, the conversation was over.

And she didn't know when they would get back to it.

Or if they ever would.

**These chapters always end up longer than I originally planned them to be, and so I end up cutting them off ahead of schedule. There was supposed to be more about the case in this one, but we'll have to get to it next week instead. **

**As always, let me know how I'm doing. I know that you all want to see BxB get together and have an actual talk... but other things need to happen first. Keep in mind that it's only been four days since she told him, and this is only their second day on the case. There's still alot ahead of them. **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Happy Thursday, everyone :) I'm suffering from new-episode-withdrawal. I can't believe we have to wait until November. o_0**_  
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_Chapter 7_

_May 30__th__, 2011_

"Well, that's a tragedy," said Dale Orlando, from his position behind the large mahogany desk in the sparsely decorated office. His mustache was huge, almost hiding his mouth entirely, and a tiny scruff of beard curled on his chin. He had thick eyebrows, too, and they hung over his eyes darkly. He was beefy, with a bit of a pot-belly, but he wasn't immensely overweight. He hadn't moved from behind the desk since they're arrival, though, and it looked like he'd been living there. Power bar wrappers littered the floor around his trash bin. Clearly he had terribly aim.

"Yes, it is," Booth agreed emphatically. "Can you tell us what he was working on?"

The manager of the struggling newspaper scrubbed his face thoughtfully, and then scrunched his lips together and shook his head. "No."

"No you won't tell us... or no you don't _know_?" Brennan cut in, raising an eyebrow.

"The second one," he answered with an affirming nod. "Sorry."

He didn't look sorry.

"Right. Tell us a bit about Mr. Kaminski," Booth tried, going for a different angle.

"Well, he's been working here for quite some time, now... he's got a way with words, even if his work ethic isn't outstanding."

Booth was nodding; the sister had already mentioned that. "What was his focus? Was he in sports, gossip..?"

"Just news," the boss said, tossing his hands up in a shrug. "I mean, we've got people with their own columns... but we need people to hunt down other stories, too. He was one of those."

"So he 'hunted down stories?'"

"Pretty much."

"Can you give us an example?" Brennan suggested.

"There was this meat-packing company he exposed for violating health procedures... but that was over a year ago."

"He liked to cause a stir?" Booth guessed.

"You bet he did."

"So... you didn't ask him what he was working on recently?"

"Something good," Orlando said. "He promised it was worth his time, and I trusted him. He might not have gotten the job done _often_... but when he did it, he always did it well."

"But there was no other story recently that might have caused conflicts? No threatening messages in the mail? No conflicts on the job?"

"Nothing with his articles, no. But he did have a bit of a problem with Wayne. Well... it was more that Wayne had a problem with him, but regardless... they got into it pretty heavy a little while ago."

Booth turned to meet Brennan's eyes with a raised eyebrow.

"Wayne have a last name?" he asked, returning his attention to the other man.

"Yeah, Falkner. He sits over there," he added, lifting up just slightly in his seat and pointing past them through the glass walls of the office. Both of them turned around to find a broad-shouldered man with dark hair staring at them. He dropped his gaze back to his computer at once, but they were already heading his way. "You're welcome!" the boss called after them.

"Can I help you?" Wayne asked, staring up at them as they stood over his desk. As if he didn't know why they were there. Everyone else in the office was scrambling to make themselves look busy—they had all been trying to hear what was going on, and at the very least they had all been staring towards the boss's office.

"FBI, Special Agent Seeley Booth. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. We've got a few questions about your coworker, Nathan Kaminski."

"What about him?" Wayne asked, his posture turning defensive as he leaned back in his chair, attempting to appear unfazed.

"Well, for starters, he's _dead_," Booth said.

"Whoa!" the other man said, at once leaning forward over the desk, his hands landing palm down and crinkling some of the notes that lay scattered across the surface. "I hated him, yeah. I hated his _guts_. But I didn't kill him."

Brennan was looking through the things on the desk, picking up his picture frames to get a closer look, and he cut his eyes towards her sharply.

"Hey; put that down," he demanded, moving to grab it from her. She pulled it away from his grasp and gave him a skeptical look.

Booth snapped his fingers, drawing Wayne's eyes back towards him. "Why did you hate him so much?"

"I didn't kill him."

"Yes, you've already said that," Booth replied tiredly. "But, see, a lot of times... people hate other people for the same reasons. So, what did he do to piss you off that might have pissed somebody else off enough to kill him?"

"He was a prick," Wayne answered unabashedly. "Thought he could do anything he wanted, get away with whatever just because he was a smooth talker. Do you know that I did twice as much work as him, and he got paid _more _because he brought in the views with those crappy stories he magically produced once every eight months or so?"

"Anyone else in the office feel the same way?"

"Hell yeah. We all talked about it. I was the only one to ever tell him to his face. Which is when it got... physical."

"You beat him up."

"We fought," Wayne corrected. "And I happened to win."

Brennan put the picture back, and Booth saw it was of Wayne on a boat with an older man, holding up a large bass.

"And were you reprimanded?"

"Yeah, the boss put us both on suspension. But it was worth it."

Booth nodded thoughtfully. Normally, murderers didn't try to make themselves look more like suspects. But he wasn't ruling anything out.

"Thanks for your help," he said, shaking the other man's hand and guiding Brennan towards the door. She pulled away from his touch.

"We aren't going to question any more of them?" she asked him in a hushed whisper.

"We've got enough for now. And we can always come back. This... was just stirring the pot up a bit. Turning up the heat. If anyone here knows anything, they're going to be panicking soon. That's when they start making mistakes."

She fell silent again, and he held in the heavy sigh that was threatening to escape. He didn't know what he was doing wrong. If she was having a hard time with the pregnancy and everything that was happening... why didn't she just say something? He was trying to make this as easy on her as possible. He was showing her all his cards, giving her every opportunity to handle this whichever way she wanted... and yet that didn't seem to be doing them any good. Because she seemed farther away than ever, and he didn't know why.

They barely spoke after that, and she asked him to bring her back to the lab, which he did before driving himself back to the Hoover. All she had said was a quick 'thanks' as she was climbing out, and then she had turned and headed to the doors, without so much as a look over her shoulder.

It was late afternoon when he next bothered to check the time, and he found it a welcome relief to know that he wouldn't have to hide in the office much longer. The day had been one of those where he regretted waking up in the morning, and it seemed like nothing had gone right.

He had been snapping at his coworkers and generally unhappy since returning from the bakery, and the lack of casework open to him wasn't helping matters. He had gone through the same reports over and over again, reviewing the notes that Shaw had taken until he was sure his eyes were going to fall out of his head.

_That's not humanly possible, Booth_, his internal Brennan told him. He closed his eyes. Internal Brennan always sounded like that. Light and amused, correcting him about something or other. It was a setting in his brain he could no longer turn off.

It was taunting him, now, because it contrasted so much from the real-life Brennan he was dealing with. She didn't want to talk to him, and it was killing him, because he _needed_ to talk to her.

He was almost starting to think he should go see Angela. A middleman might be the best he was going to get at this point, and the artist always had insights on her best friend. Now that she was in the loop, she was available to him for advice.

But he held off, checking his email one last time before shutting down the computer and gathering together his things. He'd leave the office early today, he decided, and just go home. He was behind on sleep and it was about time he caught up. With nothing changing as of yet in the investigation and no one in need of his contributions... he wouldn't be missed. And he was always just a phone call away, anyways.

Still, it felt wrong, pulling into his apartment building with the sun still shining overhead. He was much more familiar with the stars and the slow trip in to the elevator as he tried to shake out his muscles and convince them to just make the last few steps before he could collapse.

Now, he was awake and feeling tense. He needed to burn some energy, and he jogged up the stairs and changed into sweats and running shoes. He could go to the gym and take out his frustrations on a punching bag, but somehow it seemed more _right_ to pound away everything into the sidewalk pavement.

He hadn't run in quite some time, and it was relaxing, to get back into the habit. He used to go jogging all the time. Hannah had been into it, and before her he had even gotten Brennan to join him on the early mornings. It was a rare thing, because they usually were busy on cases or exhausted from having just finished one—or a fresh one came in at some ungodly hour—but it had been fun, regardless. They used to race to the coffee cart and find a bench, taking odd refuge in the warm beverage even as they were sweaty and tired.

He wondered if she would like it, getting back into the habit. He wondered if they might do it together every morning, if they were actually together.

If that ever happened.

He by-passed the spot where the coffee cart sat and headed into the park, finding the trail he used to follow back before he had met her and taking it with a fresh burst to his speed. The trees rushed past, and stray leaves whisked across the pavement in front of him in the breeze that had suddenly sprang up.

It felt good on his skin, and he didn't stop.

He kept going, until he was too tired to go any more. And then he braced his hands up against a tree and bowed his head between his arm, gasping in ragged breaths before pushing himself over sideways and landing heavily on the grass.

The sky was darkening, more so with clouds than with night, and he stayed there for a while, watching the overhead movements and the edges of the white puffs as they headed across and gave way to the thicker masses.

The first raindrop was his signal to get up and start home.

This time, he walked. The slower rate gave him the chance to think, though, which he'd been trying to avoid. Running was a steady one-foot-in-front-of-the-other process. It was listening to his breaths and evening them, feeling the thrum as each foot touched down and pushed off. It was watching the world wash past and the spinning blur of pavement that greeted his downcast eyes as he moved faster and faster.

Walking was calming, but it did little for him mentally.

There was nothing to distract him from the confusing and frustrating place that was his life right now.

So he picked up the pace as he rounded a corner, and he made it all the way to the park entrance before he slowed again. He was physically fit, but he was getting older. He couldn't run like there was no tomorrow the way he used to.

He coughed roughly, his throat numb with the cold of the air that had been rushing in and out on each breath.

The rest of the walk home, he counted the raindrops that hit him, until there were too many to keep track of. And then he climbed in the shower and closed his eyes with his face under the torrent.

It was still raining when he shut the shower off—he could hear the steady thrum against the windows. Sighing, he toweled off and yanked on just a pair of boxers before heading straight for his bed. Forget supper, he wasn't hungry.

He was just tired.

It was from more than the run, too, and he knew it.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The world was fresh and crisp when Brennan stepped out of her apartment building in the morning. Water droplets hung from the blades of grass and the window ledges, and the sidewalk was that odd color that it turned when it was mostly dry but still recovering from the torrent of the night before.

Her shoes squeaked as she climbed into her car.

They still hadn't identified the murder weapon, and she knew it was largely her fault. She was distracted; her lack of focus was hurting the team. Cam and Wendell had watched her with obvious concern on the platform, and she had resolutely avoided meeting their eyes.

Thankfully neither of them had said anything about it.

Hodgins would have, if she hadn't so forcefully sent him home early with the security tapes Booth had acquired for them with a warrant that had finally gone through. Angela had wanted something to do, and Brennan had found something for her. The team needed to focus on the _how_—it would be helpful if their technology expert would look into the _who_ for them.

The fact that she could use Hodgins as a currier was just a lucky bonus.

Last night, though, she had gotten very little sleep, regardless of how well she thought she'd kept herself isolated the day before. No one had asked any questions about her, but that didn't mean she wasn't asking them herself.

And they were haunting her.

She had been unfair to Booth the day before. That wasn't something she could deny. It was frustrating, of course, that he was so self-sacrificing. But she had no right to be angry at him because of it. She should have made herself clearer; told him she wanted him to be the one making the decisions. He'd have understood that, surely. And then they wouldn't be in this mess.

She was halfway to convincing herself to tell him this the moment she saw him, but something was still stopping her. She didn't want to have to bring it up, naturally, and she suspected he wouldn't want to bring up uncomfortable issues in the light of the new day. If he seemed okay today... she would just proceed as though everything was normal.

Prolonging the inevitable, of course, but it was the only way she could comfort herself. The very idea of discussing yesterday, and the entirety of the pregnancy, with Booth once again... was enough to set her heart pounding. She didn't want to let herself dwell on it.

It was early enough, when she arrived, that there was limited activity in the lab. Other sections of the platform buzzed with the minimal morning activity, but Cam's office was dark and there was no sign of either Wendell or Hodgins. Sighing with a small amount of satisfaction, she headed straight for her own office and unlocked it, flipping on the lights and un-shouldering her bag. While the computer warmed up, she tied her hair up into a loose ponytail and pulled out the files they had so far on this case.

She set the documenting images out on the desk and then reached for the mouse as the login screen finally came up. The file temporarily her second focus, she went through her emails with hardly any interest, taking note of the book signing that was coming up next month and the three messages asking for her consultation on a TV show, a reference book, and a confusing skeleton that had been found in Iowa. She opened the one from Iowa and read the information that her fellow anthropologist gave to her before shooting back an email promising that she'd look into it sometime in the next week and see if she could come up with anything that might help. All the rest, especially those asking her to lecture or travel in any capacity, she ignored. Eventually, she would have to tell Cam—so that her boss could plan accordingly for the time off she would need as well as notify the various people associated with the Jeffersonian that she wouldn't be available—but right now she didn't want to think about that anymore than she wanted to think about how to fix things with Booth.

One step at a time, she told herself.

A box appeared in the bottom of her screen just as she was about to return her attention to the file, and she turned back before clicking on the 'Accept' button and bringing herself to the web-chat program the lab used.

Angela appeared on the screen.

"Good morning," Angela greeted her, smiling brightly despite the deep circles under her eyes.

"Good morning?" Brennan replied hesitantly. "Ange, when's the last time you slept?"

"Honestly, I don't remember," the artist said simply, as though it wasn't a big deal. "I have some info for you from the tapes you sent Hodgins home with."

"You didn't have to look at those last night—"

"Oh, I know. But I was awake anyways," Angela answered tersely, finally giving away that she was far more exhausted than she was behaving. Her smile was too wide. "Anyways," she continued forcefully, "We've got four people coming and going out of that apartment in our time frame. Here."

The screen switched to a fixed camera image aimed down the hallway. The woman who appeared first, Brennan immediately recognized as Liz.

"That's one of the girlfriends," she said.

"Alright, so that's one identified," Angela's voice said from off-screen. "She came in at noon, which is before our timeline, but she left at five. It puts her close to the beginning. But she's unlikely, because we've got so many others coming and going and none of them behave like there's a dead body in there."

"Go ahead," Brennan instructed, watching as Angela fast-forwarded to show Liz's departure and then moved forward once again, stopping to play as a woman that Brennan didn't recognize came up to the door. She had her own key, and she disappeared inside quickly. This time, the fast forward was much shorter, showing only ten minutes of interval between the arrival and the departure. The time stamp said she had come at seven.

There was a large gap now as various people came up and down the hallway at the exaggerated speed from the fast-forwarding, disappearing into the elevator or other apartments in the hallway. Angela finally slowed it again at around nine. Another woman, this one with thick curly hair and tanned skin, knocked on the door, and called something. After she got no response, she fished under the mat and came up with a key, letting herself in and shoving the key back where she had found it.

A half hour later, she, too, left.

At nearly ten o'clock, someone in a hoodie, their face obscured, went to the room. Finding it locked, they knelt down and went to work with what looked like a thin strip of wire. A moment later the dark figure vanished inside. The door stayed propped open, and only a moment later the figure returned, something clutched in their arms.

"Is that the laptop?" Brennan guessed.

"Looks like it," Angela agreed. "That was my first thought for what it could be, too."

Brennan glanced up at movement outside her door, and saw Hodgins heading past on the way to his own office, his lab coat slung over his shoulder. He waved as he saw her look up, and she returned the gesture.

"Your husband is here," she told Angela, who had reappeared on the screen.

"I figured he'd be arriving," she said. "I'll let you get back to work... unless you want to talk? How are things going? How's junior?"

She laughed, a short, almost humorless sound. "The baby isn't even a baby yet, technically, Ange. You know that—you just went through this. And... I am mostly fine."

"Mostly fine isn't fine," Angela pointed out, ignoring the rest of what she'd said.

Brennan sighed. "I'm coping," she said at last. _Trying to cope, you mean,_ her brain corrected automatically.

"Okay, sweetie. Call me, though, if you need anything. Have you looked through those books I gave you?"

"I glanced," she said. It was a white lie. "I've been busy with the case. Thanks again, though. For giving them to me."

"No problem. Call me," she intoned firmly, and then disconnected.

Brennan sighed and leaned back in her chair heavily. She had barely looked at the books, let alone flipped through them. She'd put them in the corner, out of sight, and had tried to avoid them. To be honest, she wasn't ready to go in-depth on this. She was pregnant, and she'd already been to a doctor's appointment that had made it feel _very_ real... but she still wasn't really accepting it yet. Avoiding it helped her cope, and the last thing she wanted to do was start making plans for names or birthing methods or Lamaze classes.

The case. That helped her cope, as well, and so she forced herself to lean forward again and flip through the sheets she had spread out in front of her.

The murder weapon was a knife, that much was certain. The exact wound pattern, though, had been hard to match. The thrusts had been at an upwards angle, as opposed to a downwards thrust, which meant the killing had been done underhand, with sharp forward thrusts. Likely while the victim was already on the ground, although one of the non-fatal wounds showed signs that it might have been what caused Kaminski to fall to the ground. That, and of course the fact he was also heavily intoxicated at the time.

It all fit the pattern of a female killer, which they had already suspected.

Booth had seemed interested, yesterday, in the fact that Kaminski had been working an angle for the paper. If that were the case, she would have guessed the killer would be male. It changed things considerably, if this wasn't a case of jealousy or betrayal, but a cover-up.

The knife itself, though, was elusive. It was at least partially serrated, and very sharp. The damage it had done to the flesh around the entry suggested it had been removed with trouble. Another indicator of a female killer, one with little experience using a weapon, as well.

But from the angle, it would appear the knife had been removed, each time, by jerking back at an angle, pushing the handle towards the body so that the blade lifted upwards as it was pulling out along the angled track it had entered at.

It was odd, at the very least.

She was looking through the images of the scarring to the ribs again when a knock at her door drew her attention up. This time it was Cam, not Hodgins, and she motioned for her boss to enter.

"Angela sent out a mass email, with pictures from the surveillance tape. She mentioned that she had spoken with you about it this morning, and you could fill the team in on the details."

"Of course," Brennan said, catching the implication there and gathering her things together as she stood up. Out in the lab, she could see Wendell and Hodgins on the platform, talking as they stood over the body. And then, as she moved towards the door, she noted two other figures standing by the railing in suits.

Booth and Sweets were here now as well.

She and Cam joined the group on the platform, and Cam pointed out the pictures on the largest monitor to her before she began to explain their arrival and departure times and how they had entered the apartment.

"So it could be any of them," Booth reasoned. "Since all of them after the first entered by their own means. He didn't let them in... meaning he could have been dead when the next woman arrived."

"We don't know the last one is a woman," Cam reminded him, nodding towards the figure in the hoodie.

"Right. Whatever. The point is, we've got four suspects, and we only know who one of them is."

"Facial recognition is started in Angela's office," Cam assured the group calmly, "But in all likelihood... we aren't going to get anything from it."

"If we showed the pictures around at the apartment building, perhaps his neighbors could identify the women whose faces we can see," Sweets suggested. Booth turned to him, and Brennan felt her gut twist at the psychologists use of 'we.' As if he and Booth would be doing the investigation. She hated herself for the sudden wave of irrational jealousy, when she was the one who had been treating Booth like a pariah on and off so much recently, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to be investigating this, she realized. She wanted to be out in the field with Booth, even if that meant addressing things.

And if he brought it up... she would be honest with him.

If not... she would act as normal as possible. Try and go back to their friendly banter and their shared theories about who could have done it. With any luck, they could get through this case without any more troubles from their personal life. And maybe, by then, she'd have figured out how to ask him the important questions.

The questions like 'do you still want a relationship with me?' or 'has your heart healed yet, after what I did to it?'

He had said, while they were trapped in that elevator, that he needed time. She had hoped that meant that he would be the one making the first move. That he would tell _her_ when he was ready. If that ever happened.

The fact that it hadn't, that he'd made no move towards anything with her even right after discovering she was pregnant, or before that, after they slept together... it made her wonder if he'd changed his mind. If he'd realized she'd done too much damage.

And just like that, she was back on the thought-path she hadn't wanted to go down. The one where she was left wandering in circles wondering if he could ever love her, or if she was an obligation now that he halfway hated. His kiss told her he loved her. Everything else made her fear the opposite.

She had never been the hopeful type. Never the optimist.

Love was a dangerous web. And she was already tangled in it, waiting for the spider to come. That was her view on things, and it wasn't likely to change anytime soon.

But she'd keep trying, because while she was no optimist... she was also no quitter.

Booth's next words inspired some confidence on that front, though, and she felt the spark reignite in her, and the fears dwindle a bit; not gone, but definitely pushed aside. "Yeah, Bones and I will go see what we can stir up. A lot of them saw faces, they just didn't know names. If they recognize them, maybe they can give us some sort of direction for where to look next."

Sweets looked put-out, but Brennan barely paid him any mind. Booth had glanced towards her as he spoke, and she smiled at him, which inspired a similar reaction from him. He looked relieved. She felt the same way.

"Alright, so you two are off to investigate. The rest of us... we're not leaving until we get an ID on that murder weapon. So, let's get cracking," Cam delegated, clapping her hands together sharply.

Booth and Brennan met each other's eyes again, and then both headed for the stairs. Sweets followed, but they outpaced him and he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Brennan could feel his gaze, and could practically hear the questions buzzing around in his head.

He knew something was up, of course. Something that had nothing to do with the case.

Booth, like her, was fully aware that it was in their best interest to get as far away from him as possible. At least they were in sync on that level—no matter who they each might want to inform, the shrink was not on the top of their lists.

He was a good friend, sure. But he was also FBI... and things were complicated enough as it was.

"So, do you think these are all spited women?" Booth asked, waving the handful of pictures that he had paper-clipped together in his hand.

"Good chance, given what we know about Kaminski," Brennan suggested. "But, there is merit to the theory that someone wanted to keep him quiet, as well."

Booth nodded as they entered the elevator together.

Neither of them brought up the day before, and the silence was safer for it. There were no questions hanging there. Just the relief-scented air-freshener that was probably going to fade far too quickly.

**I wanted to get to an actual conversation between Booth and Brennan just as much as all of you did, but it just wasn't in the cards for this chapter. My outline told me I was trying to get too much done at once, and so it will have to wait until next chapter. **

**I hope you are still enjoying this story; let me know what you're thinking, and feel free to share thoughts on the show as well. The title for the season premiere is 'The Memories in the Shallow Grave.' Does that sound ominous, or is it just me?**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Alright, here we go. Enjoy. Oh, and a slight language warning. Just one word, so I'm not changing the rating for that. I'm pretty sure I'm allowed one or two under just the T. **

Chapter 8

May 31st, 2011

It was an odd feeling, the possessiveness that washed through Brennan as she watched the cat lady—clutching a particularly matted and flat-faced feline in her arms—stare more at Booth's figure than at the pictures he was holding out for her to look at.

She had no right to be jealous, and certainly no reason given who this woman was and Booth's clear lack of interest... but she still felt a twinge in her abdomen that had nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with her emotions.

She and Booth possessed no definition, and she shouldn't allow herself to feel this way. She was the one avoiding talking about her feelings, the one who was trying to wrap everything up in a little box in the back of her mind. She was sick of worrying, sick of wondering. Sick of trying to figure out if he felt the same way, or if she had completely missed her chance. It was so much easier to stop thinking about it.

The feeling in her stomach, though, didn't go away. It only seemed to increase as the cat lady's eyes roved over his chest and downward.

She cleared her throat and tapped the pictures.

"No," the woman said with a _'humph,'_ tossing Brennan a disapproving look, as if she were some sort of villain in this situation. It reminded her of the time she'd been called a scarecrow by Fat Pam, when Booth had made no effort to correct. This time, he didn't seem to notice, gathering up the pictures and thanking the woman before they headed to the door.

"Are you sure you don't want any tea?" the woman insisted, hurrying after them. The cat squirmed in her arms.

"We're fine," Brennan said tightly, and the woman pursed her lips.

"I was talking to him," she corrected, tipping up her nose.

Brennan ground her teeth together as Booth politely turned her down. A small amount of relief alleviated her fluttering abdomen as Booth put a gentle hand on the small of her back and guided her out of the apartment in front of him.

The woman gave her another piercing look before she slammed the door behind them.

"They don't get much crazier," Booth muttered, shaking his head.

"No, they don't," Brennan agreed emphatically. "Who's next?"

"Selena Sabella," he said tiredly, rolling his neck back. "As if today hadn't been fun enough as it is..."

She didn't ask him what he meant by that, just swallowing quietly, and letting him take the lead for the few steps down the hallway. He rapped sharply on the door at the end, and Brennan peered around his wide frame just as it opened, revealing the wispy woman. She had nearly translucent blue eyes that seemed to look through the both of them, and her hair was so metallically blonde that it was almost white. It was long, and straight, and hung halfway down her back. Her lipstick was too red.

"Oh, I was hoping you'd be back," she said, revealing a perfect row of white teeth. She opened the door wider and gestured for them to come inside without even hearing what it was they wanted. Booth acquiesced, stepping in and looking back to meet Brennan's eyes as she stepped inside as well.

She was already pouring them both cups of coffee before they could speak, and pulling out chairs from the table for them to sit in. Booth sat down hesitantly, and Brennan joined him. She stared at the coffee that was placed in front of her a moment later, twisting her expression and finally offering a 'thank you' that she hoped sounded somewhat sincere.

From what she knew, a small amount of caffeine wasn't overly harmful. But she had no intent to drink any of it for the next nine months. She was not dependant on it like Angela was—the separation would not be challenging. She had already replaced it with tea in her morning routine, and had even settled for hot chocolate on a few occasions, when she was looking for something hot and sweet.

Booth avoided his as well, taking only a quick sip before setting it down. She doubted he'd be picking it up again, as he had winced slightly when Selena wasn't looking.

"I have some pictures here, for you to look through. If you recognize anyone, it would be helpful."

He pulled out the file and laid the pictures side by side in front of her on the table, watching as she tilted her head. She pulled out the chair and slowly seated herself, laying her hand on each image in turn.

"This one... she's familiar," she said, and both of them leaned forward to see which image it was that she had recognized. "Yes, yes, I know who that is," she continued. It was the image of the second woman, Brennan noted as Selena tapped it with conviction.

"Do you have a name you can give us?" Booth queried.

"Tania," Selena answered firmly. "Her name is Tania. She used to come by quite a lot, but not so much anymore. She was pretty regular, though. I didn't know her, just heard him use her name in passing when I'd go by them in the hallway a couple of times." She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "She's _married."_

Booth raised his eyebrows. "You're sure of this?"

"Oh, yes. She wore the ring and everything while she was here. The dirty whore."

"Any clue what her last name might be?"

"None at all. But she used a car service; they used to drop her off here out front. Bet they know her name."

Booth nodded, meeting Brennan's eyes. This looked like a promising lead, for certain. A married woman involved with the notorious player? Maybe this was a cover-up, in some form, after all.

"Alright, so none of the other women look familiar to you?"

She gave them another cursory glance, but then shook her head. "Nope."

"Thank you for your help," Booth said, standing up.

The woman pouted almost comically. "Leaving so soon?"

Brennan stood up quickly, "We have work to do," she said curtly, and then turned swiftly and led the way to the door.

Booth closed the door behind him when they were out in the hallway. She stood with her arms crossed, and the moment he took a step away from the door she spun again and started leading the way towards the elevator.

"Bones, wait up," he said, and she heard his heavy footfalls for a moment before he came even with her, a hand resting cautiously on her shoulder. She wanted to shake it off, but she didn't. It was warm and reassuring, and all she really wanted to do was lean into his side. But she couldn't. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said at once, color rising into her cheeks. She had no answer for him; nothing she said would be adequate, and she could hardly tell the truth. She was overreacted and behaving childishly, and she didn't even have any sort of claim to begin with. She didn't even _deserve_ to have any sort of claim.

At least, that was easier than telling herself she did, and that he just wasn't interested. Self-blame was always her easiest escape route, and now she clung to it with a vengeance.

He frowned, clearly able to tell she was lying—as always—but he chose not to address it. Once again, she felt a wave of anger wash through her. She should be glad he wasn't pressing, but all she could feel was the fury that came with knowing he was choosing her over himself. Why couldn't he just do things for himself for once, instead of always stepping back and letting her lead? He was acting... he was acting like he was to blame.

And suddenly, several pieces fell into place.

She had never been so sure as she was now—Booth felt guilty about all of this. That was why he was so eager to please her, so eager to let her take charge in this situation. That was why he wanted her to have the control, because he felt _bad_. He felt like he'd done something wrong, even though she was the one who had initiated their encounter that night. Even though she was the one that was at fault for causing the pregnancy.

But of course, chivalrous Booth was taking it upon himself to be at fault. If she questioned him on it, she didn't doubt that he'd give some sexist reasoning—that he was the guy and therefore it was his fault for the sex, for the pregnancy, for all of it.

Of course she was an obligation. Why had she ever bothered to think differently? Why had she bothered to hope for a different truth?

He was Booth, behaving exactly as she would expect him to behave. He had gotten her pregnant, and now he was going to stand by, give her all the control, and blame himself.

She hated him for it, and yet couldn't stop loving him the way she had before.

It was confusing, and it threw all of her emotions in her face at once.

She was silent as she got in the elevator, and Booth was as well.

It was a long ride down.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It didn't take Angela long at all to get the name they were looking for. She went through the security images and found the car company, and then it was just a phone call away for Booth. The car company was surprisingly cooperative, telling him exactly what he needed to know.

"Tania Henson," he informed the group as he snapped his cell shut.

"That was quick," Cam commented with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, the company is paid with Mr. Henson's money. They're loyal to him. Not the wife. And they seem to be very familiar with all their clients, too. They knew exactly who I was talking about."

Cam nodded, and Angela bid them all farewell before cutting the feed and disappearing from the monitor on the platform, after she had promised that she would be by for a visit on Thursday.

"You got an address?" Brennan questioned, to which Booth responded with a nod.

Since returning to the lab, she had evaluated a few things, and decided that the case was priority, regardless of how she was feeling. She was going to work it like any case in the past, and that meant being partners with Booth. It didn't mean she had to discuss her feelings, and for once Booth's self-sacrificing nature worked for her. It appeared he wasn't going to say anything.

Now, though, she was the one that desperately wanted to speak. To demand him to be honest with her, no matter the consequences.

She held it in, and forced a smile. "We should get going, then."

"Yep," he agreed easily, returning the smile even though there was a tightness around his eyes that didn't belong there.

They talked, on the car ride to the other side of town, focusing on the details of the case. Booth mentioned that there was still a chance that their killer wasn't one of Kaminski's lovers, and Brennan posited the scenario that the killer might not have even been caught on the camera. They might have dropped down from a balcony or up from a tree by the window. Booth argued that it was unrealistic and their killer wasn't some sort of high-tech ninja assassin. She informed him that _those_ terms were unrealistic.

In many ways, it was normal. But in others, it was forced.

They both acknowledged it silently, but neither of them challenged it.

The veil between them shimmered. They smiled, laughed. Ignored the ripple.

The house they pulled up in front of at last was huge. Brennan would have been awed, if she hadn't seen the mansion where Angela and Hodgins resided. This was large, and gorgeous, but it had nothing on the extravagantly rich entomologist's abode.

Booth, though, gave it an appraising look with his eyebrows raised as he stepped around his side of the SUV to join her on the way up the path.

She wondered what it would be like, living in a place like this. And then she decided it didn't matter, because she could have bought a place like this years ago. She had chose not to, and it still didn't appeal to her. It would only amplify the loneliness of her life. She could see it, clearly—her wandering around through the halls with her hands in her pockets, staring up at the high ceilings as her heels clapped on each step across the marble. Like some bad scene in the middle of a romance movie, minus the tear-jerking music.

She grimaced at the thought, and Booth glanced at her. He didn't speak, didn't ask any questions, and the flame inside her flared up again. She set her jaw, and stayed back as he went up the stairs and hit the doorbell.

It was a woman who answered the door, and although there was a great difference between seeing the grainy security video and seeing the woman in person, the resemblance was immediately obvious. Yes, this was her.

She wore too much jewelry and her skin was a deep bronze, the sort of color that everyone knew was unnaturally and earned from the tanning salon. Brennan saw it as an invitation for skin cancer, and she pursed her lips as Booth showed his credentials and turned back to acknowledge her and introduce her as his partner. She nodded curtly in recognition and stepped up two stairs to come more level with the other woman.

Tania looked at both of them, sizing them up more than anything else, and then leaned outwards and to the side, peering around them towards the mansion across the street. She seemed to hesitate, and then sighed in an impatient huff.

"Come in. Quickly. And take off your shoes... I just had the floors cleaned."

They acquiesced without complaint, although Brennan stiffened as they moved across the threshold.

She was at once reminded of the other reason she didn't like the idea of living in a big house. One of her decidedly less unpleasant—but scarring nonetheless—experiences in foster care had looked very much like this from the start. The big house, the _opportunities_ she had been promised would be afforded to her.

The realization that she was a charity case, that she was there to be shown off to the neighbors like the newest dog breed... _"Oh, this is our foster daughter... oh yes, we saved her from that terrible system. She's quite something, isn't she?"_ And then, in a whisper that she could still hear: _"She's a bit difficult, but oh, we do the best we can. Anything to give back to the community. What have you done for the community lately, Judy? Hm?"_

She ground her teeth, but smiled politely when they were ushered into a sitting room off the main hallway. The sweet little chairs and fancy couches, all stiff-backed and uncomfortable, all adorned with tasseled pillows and blankets that guests knew better than to touch. It was the sort of place that involved holding your breath and sitting very still and hoping that your host wouldn't offer you something to drink that might stain in some horrible china that was so valuable you didn't want to _touch_ it.

No, this was nothing like Hodgins' place at all. There, everything was warm. The furniture was comfortable and the decorations were bright and vibrant. It felt cozy, despite the astonishing exterior.

This wasn't a home. This was a museum.

The woman gestured for them to sit on the couch, and they settled into their respective cushions uncomfortably. Booth flinched as he leaned back into the cushions, his shoulders pulling forward and his hands resting oddly on his lap, like he didn't dare put his fingers on the arm rest. She didn't feel much better herself.

Tania dropped into the largest chair with a tight little huff, crossing her ankles and looking at Booth earnestly. She seemed to have decided that he was the lead here, and he was the one she was going to have to deal with.

"Ms. Henson, you know why we're here, don't you?" he asked.

"This is about poor Nathan," she said, blinking slowly. Her eyelashes were long and thick with mascara. She looked bored, but with a bit more focus it was clear she was uncomfortable. She glanced towards the clock every now and then as the conversation went on.

"So you heard the news, then?"

"It was sort of hard to miss," she responded dismissively. She didn't look the slightest bit broken up about the death of 'poor Nathan.'

"Could you describe your relationship with Mr. Kaminski?" Booth prodded.

She gave a long-suffering sigh. "I doubt it will do much good, but I still ask that you keep this information to yourselves."

"We'll do our best. But it all depends on where the investigation leads us. If you aren't involved in his death... then we have no reason to reveal your... indiscretions."

Her lip quirked up at the word, and she almost laughed. "I see you've done your homework. Although, I assumed you would have, to be here in the first place. I do wish I could be sure the neighbors don't suspect why there's a government vehicle out front, though."

"It's unmarked," Booth started, clearly ready to remind her of his original question. But she went off of that before he could continue with his intention.

"As if that matters," she responded with a scoff, reaching forward to pat his knee in an arrogant sort of way. Brennan found she liked it less than the way the cat lady had looked him up and down. There was a sort of devilishness to this woman, like she didn't care what she did. She was out for herself, and the path she took didn't quite matter so long as the destination worked out in the end.

Brennan wanted to interject, to lean forward and demand an answer to Booth's question, but the woman had leaned back again with another wispy sigh, and now she spoke with a response at last.

"Nathan and I met at an art show a year ago. He was writing a piece, and I was enjoying the free drinks and showing off my husband to the other women. They were all jealous, of course."

"Of course," Booth answered. If the woman was bright enough, she'd have noted the slight trace of sarcasm in his tone. But that was only for Brennan to see, and she smiled slightly, letting the emotion show for just a moment before she masked it again. Tania might not be interested in her, but she couldn't risk being glanced at now, and side-lining the conversation.

"He was charming. He included me in his story, and asked for my address so he could send me a copy of the paper when it came out. Naturally, I agreed."

"And he came to see you?"

"No, he sent me the paper with a note inside. Said he wanted to see me again. You probably know how it is," she added, her attention switching to Brennan at last. Her cool gaze looked her up and down before she nodded decisively. Brennan felt color wash faintly up into her cheeks, her anger rising like a thermostat. This woman... there was something about her that went beyond the house that Brennan hated and the words that Brennan couldn't stand. There was something in her _being_. "You get so tired of being with the same man all the time..." she was continuing, oblivious to Brennan's inner thought process. "It's just so _exciting_ to have a change. And mind you, I was married to Howard for five years at that point. I needed something to liven my life up, even if he is still a handsome young man. The spark... it just starts to dwindle at some point. Nathan... well, _Nathan_ made me feel younger every time I saw him. Always at his place, of course. Never here." Her eyes went back to Booth as she finished.

He opened his mouth to speak, but now Brennan broke her silence. She felt useless sitting here, having not yet said a single word in the interview. It wasn't like her, and she felt... lost. Like she had changed, like she wasn't herself anymore. Like she was letting the pregnancy and her emotions take over, and ruin who she had been before.

She was Dr. Temperance Brennan, and she did not back down. She did not let things like this happen to her.

It was about time she started showing it.

"You were aware he was seeing other women?"

"Oh, of course," she tittered, as if any other idea were foolish.

"And that never bothered you?"

"Why would it? He was... _very_ good. And I only saw him once a month or so. It was enjoyable recreation. Not any sort of love affair."

"Just an affair," Brennan noted, raising an eyebrow.

Tania's eyes narrowed. "Clearly, you, my dear, have never been married." Her gaze switched over to Booth, and her expression changed. "Oh. But not far off, I suppose. My apologies."

Brennan wanted to injure her, and that thought was what jarred her from the very idea. She took in several careful breaths, feeling the way each of her muscles relaxed. Was this the hormones, or was it too early for that? Maybe the mood swings were just escaping because she'd let so much pile up in front of her.

Either way, she stayed silent as Booth finished with the questioning, barely hearing anything else that transpired. She almost didn't notice what was happening until she was climbing back into the SUV with no recollection of leaving the house at all.

She blinked a few times, and then pulled on her seatbelt and turned her head to the window as they pulled back out onto the street and turned around in one of the neighbors' driveways.

"Everything okay, Bones?"

"What? Oh. Yes, I'm fine."

He made a sound that showed he didn't quite believe her, and then focused on the road.

"Where are we going?" she asked, after about five minutes had passed and she had realized they weren't anywhere near either the lab or her apartment. It was getting late.

He smiled, but it was a sad look for him. His eyes softened.

"Tania told us that Kaminski was working a story in some of the local clubs. She gave me the names of the three he was fixated on. It seems she was the least common of his 'girlfriends' and he told her a lot of things he left out with the others. Probably because she didn't care about his other affairs. It let him be honest."

"What was he writing about?" Brennan questioned. He already knew she hadn't been paying attention on the interview, so there was no need to further the illusion. She might as well get the answers she needed, and get them upfront.

"That... I still don't know. But hopefully we'll find some answers here." He pulled the vehicle into a parking lot, and lights flashed overhead, the neon sign changing colors repeatedly.

"Dominion," Brennan read, quirking an eyebrow.

"Nice name, right?" Booth responded. She couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. "Bones..." he hesitated, and she swallowed. "Maybe we should... talk about the baby?" he suggested quietly.

She ran her tongue over her lips. "Not now," she said at last. When really, she wanted to say something completely different. She held it in, though, and watched as he nodded in defeat, climbing out of the SUV. She followed him, watching as he put on his sunglasses and shed his tie, unbuttoning the front of his shirt.

Glancing down at herself self-consciously, she hesitated only a moment before undoing a few of her own buttons and running her hands through her hair to fix it up a little.

She wished he wouldn't let it go. Wished he would pull her back towards the car and demand that they talk. She wished she could see the old Booth, the one who would never have let her get away with a response like that. Who would have insisted that she talk to him, and not let it drop until he was sure that she was really fine with whatever it was that was happening.

Now, he didn't do any of those things. He kept trying to let her lead, let her have her way.

And he didn't seem to notice that increasingly, she was giving him the lead in every other way, especially on this case. Just praying he'd pick up on the one place she really needed him to be.

She couldn't keep doing this on her own.

The anger was dying inside of her, the flame sputtering.

Pretty soon, she was going to be lost in the dark, and she couldn't quite decide which fate was worse.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

They kept a low profile when they stepped inside the second club, much as they had in the first. Dominion had been a failure, with the bartender shaking his head to each of the pictures that they showed him. Booth had gotten a vibe, and had decided to keep it calm and simple. They would avoid interacting with customers or the club owner. She suspected he thought they'd be coming back at some point, but he didn't explain why, or exactly what it was he was looking for outside of an ID on their pictures.

Their second stop, Club Glow, wasn't looking any better, to start with. But when Booth slid a picture of Kaminski across to the bartender, the man twisted his expression and then asked them if they wanted anything to drink. Booth laughed shortly, shaking his head and tossing a few bills on the bar. He accepted the beer he was offered, only taking a few sips because they were on duty, but Brennan asked for just a Sprite on the rocks.

He tapped the picture with a raised eyebrow, and now the bartender answered him, as he swiped the cash off the bar top.

"That's Nate. Regular customer here. He goes home with a pretty woman every time he's in here. Stays quite some time, doesn't drink too much… but he's lucky. Got a way with the ladies."

"Do you recognize any of these women?" he laid out the other pictures as the bartender turned away and served another customer. He leaned back over to look, and narrowed his eyes.

"That one there… she's familiar. I think he went home with her a few nights ago. Last time I saw him, matter of fact. What did she do?"

Booth collected the pictures. It was their other unidentified woman, meaning that the only one they couldn't account for as being one of his dalliances was the unknown in the hoodie.

"Thanks," Booth said shortly, not answering the question. "Any idea where I can find her? Her name on a tab, by any chance?"

"Nope. Can't help you."

He and Brennan stepped away from the bar. "I don't think he's going to give us anything else," Booth muttered. She nodded her head in agreement.

"Should we try the next bar?"

"Yeah." They headed out, and once the chilly night air washed across their faces, his expression changed. "Bones… we do need to talk."

She swallowed. Finally. He was going against what she had said. He was doing what he wanted, and he was trying to get answers rather than letting her have the lead—which he didn't realize she didn't want to begin with.

"Tonight," she said cautiously. "When we… when we're done with work."

He nodded definitively. "Alright, Bones."

The third club was called Blue Fish. The music blared out into the parking lot, and the lights glimmered brilliantly overhead, shining down like spotlights across the line gathered outside, in front of the bouncer.

They crossed the parking lot together, and Brennan chewed on her lip before she looped her arm through his. They were going to talk tonight, and she was going to find out the truth. She was going to ask the hard questions, finally, and there was no way she could avoid it. No matter how much she wanted to. He didn't react, just let her lean into his side. But he did turn his head, and she wished she could see the look on his face from her angle. She wished she could tell if he was smiling, or if it was something else entirely.

They didn't wait long before the bouncer nodded them in, thanks mostly to Booth's smooth attitude and the way he seemed to fit in despite the age difference between them and the twenty year olds that were falling all over themselves, giggling and stumbling in their high heels. Inside, the club was thrumming and dark, and they weaved through the dance floor and around the tables and reached the bar.

Booth was watching something down the small hallway that was blocked off by the counter, but then he turned his attention to the bartender and she released his arm to sit on the stool to his right.

This time, she refused a drink, and Booth did as well. He showed the pictures, and got a hit on the same one as last time. After Booth slipped him a twenty, he pointed her out. Booth raised his eyes to Brennan, and they both stepped away from the bar and headed across the club. She was a waitress, wearing a skimpy outfit with a lot of dangling sequins. She smiled, the gold glitter around her eyes flickering in the lighting as she served tall glasses of something fruity to a group of college girls.

"Oh," she said sharply, when she turned and found them standing in front of her. "Sorry," she said, reaching out a thin finger to trace across Booth's upper chest. She moved to step around them, but he blocked her path.

"Do you know this man?" he asked, holding out the photo of Kaminski.

She opened her mouth and then shut it again, cutting her eyes both ways.

"What is this?" she demanded lowly.

"Nothing," Brennan assured. "Just a few… friendly questions."

She laughed. "Yeah. Cops," she added pointedly, looking back and forth between them, and side-stepping to get around in order to head back towards the bar. Booth cut her off, and she scowled. "What do you want?"

"Just some answers," Booth said with a shrug. "What's your name?" When she didn't say anything, he turned and nodded in the direction of the bartender. "You want me to ask him? Because I bet he'd tell me."

"Fine, fine. My name is Taylor." At Booth's insistent look she sighed heavily. "Taylor Madison."

"And you work here regularly?"

"Yes."

"But you met _him,"_ he held up the picture, "At Club Glow?"

"I go there sometimes on my nights off. So what?"

"You went home with him," Brennan said, stepping forward.

She shrugged. "He was charming. We had a good time. What's this about?"

"He's dead," Booth informed her, crossing his arms.

"Dead?" Taylor gaped, turning her gaze to Brennan as if for confirmation.

She nodded, tilting her head and watching Taylor's reaction to the news.

"Wow," the woman muttered. "Wow…"

"How well did you know him?" Brennan enquired.

"I just met him, that one time. When did… when did he _die?"_

"The night you were with him," Booth informed her.

"The night… _that_ night? What, he died after I left? That's… crazy. Who are you people?"

"FBI," Booth told her.

"Whoa, wait, like… the government? Did he… was he _murdered_ or something?"

"As a matter of fact," Brennan answered, leaving it hanging and raising an eyebrow. She made her point. Taylor sat down heavily on the nearest chair, putting down the serving tray she'd been holding and resting her head into the side of her hand.

"Oh my God… do you know what happened?"

"Well, first off. Why did you leave that night?" Booth questioned.

Now, though, she twisted her lips up into almost a smile. "I don't generally stick around, if you know what I mean. And he didn't want company overnight. Besides, I have a second job I had to get to in the morning. Well… more like my first job. This… this is the second job." The look, though, faded from her face, and she shook her head again. "I can't believe this, though. I mean, it's not like I was going to see him again. But to find this out… it's _crazy,_ is what it is."

"I understand," Booth said, his voice taking on a more gentle tone.

"Was the balcony door open or closed when you left?" Brennan asked forcefully, cutting in on the conversation.

Booth shot her a look as Taylor stammered.

"Open… I think. I-I'm not sure."

Brennan nodded thoughtfully.

Booth passed her his card. "If you think of anything else you'd like to share," he said, and she nodded as she accepted it, glancing at it for a moment before she tucked it into her bra. She looked relieved that they were leaving, and Brennan wondered why for a moment.

But then they turned to leave, and suddenly the reality of what was coming next washed over Brennan like a tidal wave. She took a sharp breath in, almost involuntarily, and Booth turned to look at her with obvious concern. But she just shook her head to ward off his concern, offering a placating smile to make him forget about it.

The fear, though, clung to her as they got back into the SUV and set a course for Booth's apartment. He wasn't going to let her avoid him, clearly. Now, though, she found that _that_ was what comforted her. He was taking charge. Making decisions for her, rather than consulting her to make sure _she_ was okay with the decision.

It was a relief.

They talked about the case as he drove, and he mentioned, more to himself than to her, that he had a feeling he knew what Kaminski was writing about. When she didn't ask—her focus mostly internal rather than on their conversation—he didn't explain any further. He seemed to be lost in thought for the rest of the trip as well, and she couldn't be sure if he was thinking about the case, or about the impending conversation they would be forcing themselves into.

Wordlessly, she stepped out once they had pulled into his usual parking space. The walked up together, as if this were any other night and they were going to go grab a beer from his fridge and discuss the case until late at night, eating Thai food and going over the possibilities.

That would probably never happen again. At least, it would never be quite the same if it did. And tonight was no exception.

He almost offered her a beer, but then stopped short and let her look through his stock to find something she wanted. She opted for water at last, and he nodded, hesitating before he grabbed himself one as well.

And that was all it took.

"Just have a beer, Booth."

"What?" she knew he was surprised more by her sharp tone than my her words, so she repeated herself, just as forcefully. He blinked a few times, his brows slowly drawing together in confusion.

She groaned in frustration.

"I want you to stop it, okay? Just... stop doing this. I don't _care_ that I can't drink anymore. You shouldn't care either."

"Bones, I don't want—"

"Of course," she said heavily, crossing her arms. "Of course you _don't want_. To what, Booth? To make me feel bad? To make me jealous? I. Don't. Care."

He stammered for a moment, and she felt the anger rush out of her, leaving her nearly weightless. That almost made it worse. She collapsed onto the edge of the couch, suddenly feeling dizzy, and closed her eyes.

"Bones?"

"Don't ask," she muttered.

"Don't ask... what?" he questioned cautiously. She heard him move closer, but he stayed in the kitchen rather than crossing the threshold to join her in his sitting area.

"If I'm okay. Don't ask me if I'm okay."

He gave an incredulous laugh, as if the idea was ridiculous. It probably was, given that she was presenting plenty of reasons for him to doubt her well-being at the moment. But she just couldn't hear him ask it. She couldn't _deal_ with it.

And then she had her answer, and she raised her head and met his gaze piercingly.

"Are _you_ okay?" she asked him, a seriousness and wonder in her tone. How had she not asked him that? How had she _not_ spoken those words yet? The idea was absurd, and yet she couldn't remember saying them before this moment.

He opened his mouth and then shut it again, finally moving into the room. She saw, with a mix of relief and annoyance, that he had brought both his water and a bottle of beer. Like he was torn between what she wanted from him. He sat at the other end of the couch, and she twisted herself to face him, watching as he studied her back. They were both at a disadvantage here. She didn't know what he wanted _or_ what she wanted, and he clearly didn't know anymore than she did.

She wasn't sure where that left them.

"I... yeah. I'm fine, Bones."

She knew he was lying, and she laughed a short, humorless laugh, slumping back into the cushions behind her and shaking her head.

"Bones?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip. "I want you to stop _lying_," she whispered, her voice nearly breaking on the last word. She felt like she was going to disintegrate any second. Like she couldn't hold herself in reality for another moment. She was just going to... vanish like smoke.

The trembling, though, kept her grounded.

"Lying? Bones, I'm not—"

"Shut up." Her words caught him off guard as much as they shocked her. There was a fierceness in them, but a tiredness, too. "Just shut up."

He clamped his mouth shut, and she knew he was trying to think of a response. Slowly, she turned her head to look at him, still chewing on her lip.

She regretted her harshness, but was relieved that she had gotten it out. Like it had been growing inside of her for the past few days. It was out. She was addressing this. She was getting it all into the air between them, no matter the consequences. She knew that should terrify her, but right now... she just wanted to keep going. Keep releasing that weight that was dragging her down into the floor.

"You keep doing things for me, and you think you're doing something good... but you didn't even ask me. I don't _want_ you to give things up for me. I don't want to be alone in this."

"But you aren't. I'm here, I'm going to be there for the baby—"

She wanted to scream at him again, tell him to _shut the fuck up_, but she just dove onwards, overriding him.

"I don't want that! I don't want that at all!" She was on her feet, pacing. "You're ready to throw so much away, ready to just give it all up, ready to just... take whatever I throw at you, when this is _all my fault_."

"It's not—"

"It is! It is, Booth!" she shouted, laughing again and wondering if she was losing it. Her eyes prickled with tears, and she couldn't even tell if they were from anger of something else entirely. "I'm the one that caused all of this. I'm the one that got into bed with _you_. It wasn't the other way around!"

He was on his feet now, too, and he grabbed her arms and held her in place, meeting her eyes seriously.

"Bones, I want to be here. I really, really want to be here, with you, with our baby..."

She wrenched herself loose from his grasp, fighting the tightening in her throat.

The baby. It was always about the baby. She wanted _him_. She wanted _Booth_. She didn't want... her baby's father. She didn't want _just _that. She wanted all of him. Every last bit. And the more he fixated on the child, the more the ache inside of her burned, threatening to consume her.

Angela's psychic had been wrong. No one was dazzled by her, least of all him. He couldn't love her ever again. She'd thrown that out the window, and this was what she was left with.

The prickling transformed, and the first tear rolled down her cheek. Booth was still staring at her, stunned, his arms reaching out—frozen where she'd pulled away from his touch. He didn't seem able to speak.

In her head, she could hear a continuous reel of his past words, focusing in on the moment, two years ago, when he had told her he needed to be a part of the child's life, if he was going to donate for her.

The child's life.

She was going to be a mother. She was supposed to love the child growing inside of her. She was supposed to be planning a life and loving all the shopping and the parties and the general enthusiasm that this time seemed to bring. But instead, all she could feel was pain. She hadn't even given herself time to think about the baby who would be in her life all-too-soon. The thought was too painful, too difficult to consider when everything that was happening now was already overwhelming. It was only going to get worse.

And right now, she couldn't think of anything but how much she hated herself for being so jealous of the affection Booth had for this person he hadn't met... when he had shown hardly any of it towards her.

She still didn't deserve it.

She still didn't deserve _him_.

But he deserved this child, and she didn't know what to do.

Because suddenly, she never wanted to see him again. It would be so much easier, if she could just avoid him forever. If she didn't have to look into those beautiful dark eyes and see all the tenderness in the world. All the tenderness that didn't belong to her, but to someone else. If she didn't have to listen to his voice day in and day out, and wonder at how strong he was, how he moved with such skill in the field and spoke with such confidence in the office. How he knew just what to say, even when it wasn't meant the way she wanted it to be meant.

The weight was getting heavier, not lighter.

She wanted to collapse; find a corner and just wrap herself up in it, away from everything.

Away from him.

"Bones?"

The word grated at her. Her beloved nickname, like a poison to her ears.

She ground her teeth together, hating him, hating herself.

And then she went for the door, spinning as he moved to follow her. "Don't," she said, a desperation filling in the gaps in the venom her voice was spitting at him.

He stopped short, his mouth open, confusion written all over his face. It only incensed her further, and she grabbed the door handle with more force, slamming it forcefully behind her and running down the stairs as she swiped at her face.

This had been a bad idea. She never should have said anything at all. She should have just... left things as they were.

Knowing was worse than being in the dark. A thousand times worse.

She hailed a cab out front, feeling his gaze on her and trembling under its force. But then she was in the cab, and this time... this time she didn't look back through the rearview window as she was driven away.

**You don't want to know how difficult it was to write that. Phew. Alright, I'd love to hear from each and every one of you about your opinions on it, but I know that won't happen. So I'll just ask, as always, for you to hit that button. Because I'm desperate to hear how it went. **

**For those of you who need reassurance because you aren't angst-junkies like me... this story is different from many of my others. Booth and Brennan will not be discovering their feelings and getting together in the very last chapter. Not even the second to last. More like... the middle of the story. So, hold out and wait for it, because it's coming... soon. I promise. **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This is an IMPORTANT note, so I would be grateful if all of you would read it, please. I know that some of you have noticed that Brennan is OOC, and I've finally figured out why (special thanks to Cardamoms for that). I didn't particularly like Season 6 for the most part. Because of Hannah, because of the way Brennan was portrayed as unfeeling and cold and Booth wasn't exactly nice. I have rewatched Seasons 1-3 to a point where I know several episodes by heart and can tell you what cute moment happen in any given episode in addition to who died and who the murderer is by seeing a couple seconds of a scene while my parents are flipping and go past a rerun. Yeah. The thing is, after Season 3, I started to lose that feeling. I love the angst-points that I get to use from PitSotW and episodes like that... but after DitP I tended to lose focus on major changes in BxB's relationship. Such as the elevator scenes and the time when they burned those papers with the dates on them. (See, I can't even tell you what episode that was.)**

**My point-yes, there is one-is that I have sort of... forgotten some major points. SO, for the purpose of this story, we are going to go into a somewhat AU parallel, where BxB aren't on that road when she gets pregnant. This is how I've been writing without even realizing it, so I think it's fitting. This means that, as far as Booth and Brennan are concerned... they never moved forward much after Hannah. They had some of the conversation in the elevator, but there was never resolution. Both of them are still in the dark about how the other is feeling towards them. Brennan thinks Booth might have an interest, but that she might have done too much damage and that's why he's being so silent about it.  
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**I really hope this helps to explain some things. I will also be attaching a note to the beginning of the story about this. I apologize for all the confusion; I'm so used to writing outside the S6 canon with my other two stories that I blanked on this one. I hope you will enjoy the rest of this story just as much or even more now that I've cleared that up some. **

**I still don't own Bones. Sadly.**_  
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_Chapter 9_

_June 1__st__, 2011_

Booth's office was quiet, and he watched the clock on his desk tick the seconds by as he listened to the dull buzz of activity he could hear from the bullpen. He almost missed that busy atmosphere, that would have swallowed him up. Here, he felt isolated.

He still had no clue what had happened the night before. But, what he had understood of it... was that something was not right with Bones. There was something wrong there, something so wrong he couldn't even begin to understand it. She wasn't... herself, recently. She was quiet, and moody, and she didn't speak much during their interviews. She was there, and he felt her presence... but it was like she was fading into the background. The people they talked to barely glanced at her through the interview, and he hated that.

It had been so much better when she had spoken up and said things that made him cringe. At least that had been normal, even if it hadn't always made his life easy. He missed the honesty, too. The way she used to tell him exactly what was bothering her, rather than hiding behind all these new walls. These ones, he didn't know how to break down.

He didn't plan to go by the lab, today. He'd give her that much; let her figure herself out, because it was obvious she was almost as lost as he was in this mess. And tomorrow, in the fresh light, they could try to sort it all out.

Today, he had enough to deal with, as far as the case went.

The clubs they had visited the night before had given him a vibe that had nothing to do with the music and the thrum of dancing bodies around them. There was something dark about them, something that made him suspect that there was more going on... and that everyone who worked there was well aware of it. Including Taylor and the bartenders.

Be it drugs, prostitution, or some sort of black market operation... he had put together a few pieces and come up with an answer. Last night hadn't seemed the right time to bring it up, with Brennan lost in her own thoughts and him not much better off. So, he would investigate this angle on his own, and let the rest of the team know what he came up with.

His first call this morning had been to Agent Ronald Culver, in the narcotics division.

They had an appointment, which he needed to be at shortly. He stood up from his desk, relieved that the clock now told him he wasn't going to be outrageously early. He had been the one to suggest the Founding Fathers, and as expected, Culver knew the place. Another mystery solved.

He knew Culver somewhat, from a few cases they had worked together years ago. He was a good guy, with a dedication to his job that hadn't suited his family life. That aspect had been going downhill, as Booth remembered, and he doubted it had improved. But the job had owned him from the start, much like it owned Booth. It was hard to have a personal life outside of the office, and he knew that from experience. Which was why it was so easy to be so involved with Bones. Even though he wasn't technically involved with her.

She was a part of the job, though. A part of his life.

Culver hadn't had that luxury. His wife had been a stay-at-home mother to their two children, who he rarely saw. From his voice during their phone call, Booth remembered he was a rugged guy, with a sharp tone and a balding head of hair. But he knew how to crack a joke, despite it mostly being gallows humor, and he was a quiet thinker.

But that was all Booth had on him, and things could change a lot in eight years.

He was glad to have him, though, over some young, green agent who'd be more interested in a promotion than the individual case. And knowing him ahead of time improved the chances that they could cooperate between their two branches.

Booth could see he had aged, as he spotted him sitting in a booth by the window. His forehead was thick with wrinkles and his hair was receded and threaded with a gray that overshadowed his original black.

Culver spotted him as well, raising his eyes and giving him a nod. He barely smiled as the other agent sat down opposite of him.

"Booth," he said evenly.

"Culver," he greeted in return.

"You said you had something that might relate to a bust I'm working on."

"Yeah, I did. He slid a napkin towards himself and scrawled out the now familiar text.

_Culver 430 FF._

He slid it across, and Culver pulled it towards him, squinting down at it and huffing out a breath.

"Kaminski, eh?"

"Nathan Kaminski," Booth confirmed.

Culver laced his fingers together on the table. "What happened to him?"

"Dead," Booth answered shortly.

Culver made a grunting sound in the back of his throat. His head shook a fraction, back and forth.

"Please tell me you can salvage what it is he had for me."

"All I know are the names of the three clubs he was investigating."

"Well... that's a start."

"Is there a bigger picture here, that I should know about?" Booth enquired, raising an eyebrow.

"There's the start of one," he said, sighing before he launched into the story. "We had a sudden surge in narcotics being trafficked into the city, a year ago. It was hard to trace, and we haven't been able to pin down who's behind it beyond the names of a few gangs that were associated with the distribution. But they bought their stash from another guy who got it from another guy... You know how these things go."

Booth nodded. Yes, he did.

"Then, Kaminski calls me, a few days ago, and tells me he's got big info on the trade. Of course, he's a reporter, so there's a catch... but I was willing to give him the whole private interview charade when it was all over. So long as he gave me legitimate information."

"He was going to meet you here, at 4:30," Booth filled in, nodding towards the napkin.

"Yeah. Only, he never showed. I figured he backed out, or he had some other angle... and I considered that something might have happened to him. But I didn't hear anything about it, so I figured he just stood me up. We get false tips all the time. You know how that is, too."

"So he never gave you any more info?"

"Just that he some dirt for me. I told him where to meet me, and that was it."

Booth nodded slowly.

"I'd like to join in on this investigation, if it's alright with you, Booth. It seems there's a connection that might lead to my drug lords."

"Any extra set of eyes is welcome. Especially yours. We've been focusing on personal motives... so it might be a good idea to look at this from your angle."

"Oh, there's no way there isn't a connection. You don't mess with the drug trafficking trade and come out unscathed around here. Not if you're a nosey reporter with a big mouth aimed towards the feds. The minute he contacted me, he was probably at the top of their hit list."

"Now if only we knew who they hell 'they' are," Booth muttered.

"Tell me about it," Culver responded darkly.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Brennan was very carefully keeping her focus on the task at hand. Right now, it happened to be the identification of the murder weapon. She sat side by side with Wendell in Angela's office, a collection of knives scrolling across the screen as she added details on the tablet.

"It needs to be thicker," Wendell pointed out, gesturing to the knife currently in the middle of the screen. "This doesn't account for the extra damage inflicted upon removal."

"Which indicates it should have some sort of... protuberance."

"Perhaps the blade is damaged, or homemade?"

"Let's try double edged... maybe with a curve to it?"

The next few that came up were more likely candidates, but none of them were fitting exactly. The weapon they wanted was still eluding them.

She had regretted her actions last night almost as soon as she got into the cab. Since when did she run from her problems? What had gotten into her that warranted such... outrageous behavior?

And she hadn't asked him the important question. In the midst of her frustration and her over-zealous positivity that she was right about him... she hadn't asked him about _them_. About what he thought of that.

She has assumed, and she hated that.

And now... she didn't know how to change it. How exactly did she go about bringing it back up? She should apologize, probably. But then, asking a question like that, right after asking for forgiveness for her behavior... that wasn't right, either.

She had no clue what she was doing.

And she didn't even feel like herself anymore. She felt like someone else had walked into her body and started twisting her thoughts and changing her life around without her consent. It was like she was sleep-walking, and her lack of focus was a sure sign of it.

"A hook!" Wendell blurted out, and she jumped in her seat. At the alarmed and confused look she gave him, he repeated himself, "The blade... it has a hook."

Her eyes lit up, and she shoved away her personal life. "That would explain the damage done by the removal. It wasn't necessarily from leverage or a change of angle... but from the hook catching and ripping as it pulled loose with each thrust."

She started tapping again, and then together they sorted through the vast assortment of hunting and fishing knives that came up on the screen.

By the other characteristics they'd been able to discern, they finally narrowed it down. It wasn't necessarily a precise match, but it was very similar to the weapon used, at the least.

"Excellent work, Mr. Bray," she told him, and he beamed with pride. She had found herself encouraging and praising her interns more and more lately. Ever since what had happened to Nigel-Murray.

She could not remove her regrets about what she had not said, about how she had never told him just how brilliant he was, and how much she enjoyed working with him. But she could tell the others. Give them those answers, show them her thoughts. They deserved that, just as Nigel-Murray had deserved it.

"We should inform Dr. Saroyan," he said after a moment.

_And Booth_, she added internally, nodding her agreement to his statement.

Maybe she could have Cam take care of that aspect for her. She wanted to talk to Booth again, to try and right things between them... and somehow, calling him about the case felt too much like it would be a brush-off. Like it would only make things worse, and she would have to bring up the night before, on the phone, to avoid that. She didn't want to do that. She wanted to talk to him in person when she got the chance.

She wasn't quite ready to do that, yet. She didn't know what she would say, and all she could think of was what Booth probably thought of her after the way she'd acted the night before.

She wouldn't blame him for being angry with her. Hating her even, for the way she was treating him.

Over and over again, she'd been telling herself he didn't deserve any of this.

And she was only making it worse.

Like always.

Maybe... maybe she shouldn't want him to still have feelings for her, if this was how she was going to treat him. The thought sent chills down her spine, and she was reminded again, of how she barely recognized herself these days.

She needed to get back to herself. She needed to be Bones again, the way she had been before all of this had happened. She needed to be his partner, his best friend. That... _that_ was what he expected from her, and _that_ was what he deserved to be given.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Once again, Booth found himself at the small offices of the newspaper that Kaminski had written for. It was quiet inside, as it had been last time, but he still felt a difference. It wasn't quite the same, when he was doing it all on his own. He was capable, of course. But he felt Brennan's absence keenly.

Cam had called him, and told him that her people had identified the murder weapon as a fishing knife. Recalling the picture frame Brennan had picked up off of Wayne Falkner's desk on their first visit, he had made a connection and chosen to go with his gut.

Falkner was a fisherman, and Booth added to his confirmation of this as he stopped once more in front of the other man's desk, picking up the frame for himself and studying it.

"You again," Falkner said, sounding irritated and unimpressed. "What do you want now?"

"You like to fish?" Booth asked, still studying the picture, as though it interested him far more than it actually did.

"Yeah, I do. So what?"

"You own a fishing knife?"

"Like every other guy that fishes... _yeah_, I have a knife."

"Mind if I have a look in that tackle box?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and finally setting the frame back down as he focused in on the box tucked into the corner. It looked like Falkner was the kind of guy who went out first thing in the morning, or perhaps stopped at a local spot on his way home from the office. Booth had noticed it last time, vaguely, and now he was going to make full use of it.

"Help yourself," Falkner muttered. But he looked uncomfortable, and his eyes cut past Booth. His coworkers had stopped typing, and several sets of eyes peered over the tops of the cubicles, trying to see what was happening. He could hear muted whispering.

Booth slid the box out, popping it open. He pulled a glove from his pocket, not putting it on but using it to pick up the knife. He tilted it, looking for any visible signs of blood or damage, and then took out the luminal test.

"It's got blood on it," Falkner supplied for him as he tested. "It's a _fishing_ knife for a reason."

But there wasn't nearly enough blood for it to be the murder weapon. A light spattering, and it wasn't recent. It had more worn off from use than a vigorous washing.

He put it back.

"Thanks," he said shortly, and Falkner huffed, not accepting the apology in the least.

"Are you done invading my privacy?"

"For now," Booth said with a shrug. His eyes ran over the other workers, who immediately scrambled to look busy. He tapped the desk with his knuckle, and then turned to leave.

It didn't look like Falkner was involved in this, and he didn't have enough motive for it to make much sense. But he wasn't the nicest guy in the world, either, and Booth didn't mind making him sweat.

And like he had told Bones before... if anyone in the office knew anything, every visit he paid would change the dynamic. Give them a better chance of flushing out the truth.

Although, he was pretty sure Culver was right, and this had nothing to do with Kaminski's personal life and everything to do with the article he was writing.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

When night finally fell, Booth and Culver sat side-by-side in the SUV outside of Blue Fish, listening on their headsets. Seeing as Booth had already been seen and recognized as a cop, they had jointly decided to send in some fresh faces to do any more scoping. Culver's team, who was more adept at sniffing out drug activity than Booth's homicide investigators, were the ones who had been picked through. A young pair had disappeared into the club about an hour prior, and were rather enjoying themselves at the bar, making it look like they were drinking more than they were, and chatting it up with the other customers as they paid close attention to the other activities occurring.

Every now and then, one of them would find an opportunity to murmur the information into their microphone. It had been a last minute decision, this operation, and they had decided to go with the quicker and easier wire set-up, rather than trying to get themselves one of the conspicuous surveillance vans or cameras embedded in glasses.

Right now, they were getting the lay of the land. The rest... that would come later, Culver had assured. He already had people working on it, naturally.

They'd already gotten one hit, and Culver had snapped a few shots of their man on his way out. A tall, well-dressed man who walked with confidence but kept rubbing at his nose as he fumbled for his keys. Their inside couple had seen him coming out of the back room, and tipped them off as he was leaving.

It wasn't long before a second followed him, and they followed the routine, sending the pictures straight back to the office to be checked against facial recognition.

For good measure, one of their back-up agents, who was there in case things got hairy, had collected fingerprints from the railing that each man had touched on their way out.

It was a good set-up, and it was working well, thus far.

Booth wished Brennan was there, though. Stake-outs didn't have the same ring without their usual banter. And he kept finding himself opening his mouth to say something before realizing it wouldn't sound right. He was working with Culver at the moment, not Bones.

When their third man came out, it was late. Or early, if he wanted to look at it that way. It was going on two in the morning, and he was exhausted. They had taken sleep in shifts, and he was the one awake when the unexpected occurred.

A slight figure came down the stairs, obviously female, looking around before she started heading right for their van. He nudged Culver into wakefulness, and gestured towards the window. The other agent frowned, and then lowered the window.

Booth recognized her as Taylor Madison, when she got closer. He nodded to Culver, an indication that he knew who this was. That they needed to treat her as a friend, not an enemy.

"We can't talk here," she said, her voice hushed.

He motioned towards the back door without hesitation, unlocking it as she reached for the handle. Culver pulled out his phone and made the call that would signal the agents inside to head out, and then they drove around the block, stopping once they were about five minutes from any of the three clubs.

Both agents turned to lean over the backrests of their seats, looking at their passenger expectantly.

She swallowed nervously.

"I know why you're here," she said at last. "Why you're... checking out the club."

"And why would that be?" Culver asked, narrowing his eyes. Her eyes flicked to Booth's, and she ran her tongue over her lips nervously.

"You have to understand... they could kill me for saying anything."

"You're here now," Booth reminded her. "The more you tell us, the better it will be. Who are you afraid will kill you?"

"I don't know their names. I just... know what they're capable of."

"What's the setup?" Culver said shortly, cutting in. "What's the operation running in your club?"

"There are three clubs, actually," she said, her voice quivering. "I don't know who manages them, but the owners... they're just puppets. We get the shipments delivered with the alcohol. I don't know if they're originally packed that way, or if there's a change on the way... I've got no clue. All I know is that they're like that when they come in."

"Go on," Culver prodded.

She took a rattling breath. "All the employees know about it, but we don't talk about it. They only let you ask questions about Kaminski because they want to know how much you know."

"And how much did Kaminski know?" Booth questioned, raising his eyebrows.

"A lot. More than he should have, but he was careful not to let them know. But... I think they were on to him. Because I heard a few of the guys out back, the muscles that don't come out in the club unless they're needed to break up a fight or something, talking about him after we found out he was dead. It sounded like... they knew, before you came by. Like... they were involved, or something. It's... hard to describe. But I got the hell out of there before they knew I heard them."

"That was the smart thing to do," Booth assured her.

"We have some other questions for you," Culver said. "If you don't mind, I'd like you to come back to my office with me, look over some of the pictures we took tonight, see if you can ID them for us. I'll have more specific questions, as well."

She opened her mouth and closed it again, before finally nodding.

"But... they can't know I'm with you. They can't, or they'll kill me."

"They'll never find out," Booth promised, giving Culver a look. He returned it in measure, and the promise reflected back at him. Culver would make sure she was safe.

Almost ready to fall over from exhaustion, Booth let Culver and Taylor out at the Hoover, and then turned for home. If Culver wanted to take the initiative, and the lead, for now... he was welcome to it.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Brennan hadn't been to see Angela since the night she'd told her she was pregnant, and they'd barely gotten much opportunity to talk, either. So, when Angela had called her up in the final hours of the work day and asked her if she might be interested in a much needed girl night... she had accepted.

Hodgins was asleep upstairs, getting all the rest he could before he spent the following day at home figuring out how to follow the routine Angela had established for the baby, when Brennan arrived at the door.

Angela, half-asleep baby in her arms, was the one who answered the door at her knock.

She smiled widely, and when Brennan motioned towards the child, Angela passed him over gently so she could cradle him in her arms.

"He's precious," she whispered, as they moved into the living room and sat down.

"I'm about to put him up in his crib for the night," Angela murmured, her eyes sparkling.

"How is he sleeping?"

"Oh, you know. Up every two hours or so."

Brennan winced. "Something to look forward to."

"It's all worth it, though," Angela promised emphatically. "And tonight... Hodgins is on duty. You and me are staying down here, watching a few chic-flicks I've been dying to show you, and talking about things that I've been having conversations with myself about for the past week. You wouldn't believe how tedious it gets, only having a guy around. I love him... but he's not you."

Brennan laughed, careful to keep it soft as she gently rocked Michael in her arms.

"I know what you mean. There are... some things I've been wanting to discuss with you as well."

Angela raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip for a long moment. "The pregnancy," she said at last. "And... Booth."

At that, Angela stood up. When she motioned, Brennan handed over the baby, and Ange said she'd be back in a second before she disappeared around the corner. Brennan could hear her soft footfalls on the stairs, and then the creak of a few floorboards directly overhead. A moment later, the footfalls returned, and Angela reappeared.

She dropped down onto the couch cushion directly beside Brennan, lifting up her knees so she could wrap her arms around her legs.

"Alright, spill," she said, once she was settled.

Brennan took a heavy breath.

"I think I've... done some things wrong."

"Like what?"

She grimaced, running through the list in her head. There were so many...

"I'm in love with Booth," she said, ignoring the question.

Angela looked like she was ready to fall over.

"Whoa, _whoa_, sweetie. Where did that—when did you—oh my _god_."

Brennan smiled tightly, watching the emotions washing over her friend's face, until Angela seemed to calm enough that she was able to speak again.

"That's... _huge_, Bren. But-But what's the _problem_, then?"

She bit her lip. "I'm... I'm doing it all wrong, and I know I am, and—"

"Hey," Angela said, cutting her off and reaching a hand towards her. "Just... start from the beginning, okay? Does this have to do with the pregnancy?"

"Somewhat. But... it was before that."

Angela nodded in understanding.

"That's... not what's wrong, though. It's everything after that." She took a steadying breath before continuing, "Booth is... blaming himself for the pregnancy. I think he... believes that I blame him for it. Which I don't."

The artist frowned, but motioned for her to continue.

"He is happy, though, which... confuses me. He seems to be genuinely excited about having a child. And... Ange, I just don't know if this is what he wants. To... to be with me."

This time, Angela spoke up rather than telling her to continue.

"Sweetie, Booth has been in love with you for like... years. And he—"

"I know that," Brennan cut in, stopping her short.

Angela's frown deepened. "What?"

"I know that he loved me, Ange. He... he made it fairly obvious. He wanted a relationship with me. And he... referenced it quite a bit, afterwards. Out of anger because he thought I couldn't love him back."

"Not to pull a Zach here... but be kind and rewind, will you?"

"I... don't think I understand."

Angela sighed softly. "Bren, you just told me you loved him. And you... _know_ that he loves you. So what exactly is the problem here?"

Brennan was shaking her head before Angela had even finished speaking. "I said _loved_, not _loves, _Ange. I'm not sure... I'm not sure he _can _think of me like that anymore. After what I've done to him."

Angela's eyebrow went up, and it was obvious she was still as confused as before.

Brennan let out a heavy sigh. "I've given him every possible reason to hate me, Ange. And I don't want him to... to stick around because he feels he has to. I don't want the pregnancy to be... all that there is."

"So... you think he doesn't love you anymore? Booth doesn't work that way, sweetie. I guarantee you, that man will love you to the day you die."

"Angela, you can't possibly know that—"

"Yes, I can. And I do. He's never stopped loving you, not for a moment."

"But with Hannah—"

Angela waved her off. "Hannah was a terrible rebound, and it failed horribly. I think we both know that. He was so desperate to make himself believe he could get over you... that he tried to be the guy he was before he met you. The guy that liked tall blondes and wanted to dive into things without thinking. I know that it didn't work. He knows that it didn't work. And I'm pretty sure you know it, too."

"He was happy with her," Brennan stated firmly.

"Sure, if you want to put it that way. But he was also trying to make you jealous, which wasn't his best moment. At least not in my eyes. And then he told her everything about you and conveniently left off the fact that he wanted a relationship with you. Him and Hannah? That was doomed from day one. Because he's yours."

"Ange—"

"Don't fight me on this, Bren, okay? You're doing what you always do—you're trying to convince yourself that it won't work so that you don't have to try for it. And I'm here to explain it to you so you can finally be happy. You're in love with him. He's in love with you. You're having a baby together. Sweetie, you should be running into his arms, not trying to rationalize."

"I'm not trying to rationalize."

"Of course you are," Angela said calmly. "Love is _terrifying_. It always is. And I don't blame you one bit for it. But... if you two don't start telling each other everything, you're only going to make it worse. For instance, you're so sure you're doing something wrong, and that he can't love you anymore... but you haven't told him how you feel, have you?"

"I don't want to obligate him anymore than I already have, with the pregnancy..."

"And I'm telling you that you're wrong. You thought he was happy about the baby? Sweetie, you haven't seen happy until you see his face when you tell him how you feel about him. I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation, let me tell you."

Brennan chewed her lip. Of course Angela was right. She always was, and there was a logic in her words that couldn't be denied.

"I yelled at him," she said finally, deciding to address the other issue. Maybe Angela could shine some light on this as well.

"About what?" her friend inquired at once.

"I was just... so angry with him, last night. I don't even know why—well, I know why, but I just... I don't _know_, Ange. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know who I am."

"Well, you've already got your answer to that. You're hiding from Booth, and once you tell him... I promise you, it will all get better. But what was it, specifically, that you were yelling at him for?"

She rolled her tongue over her dry lips. "He keeps trying to sacrifice himself for me," she said softly. "He... he's doing things solely because he thinks they're what I want him to do. And... I hate that he feels that way, because I don't want that from him. I just... I want him to be _him_. The way—the way things used to be."

"Tell him," Angela repeated insistently. "Tell him, and you won't have to wonder anymore. He'll understand. I imagine today he was... very confused about what was going on with you."

Brennan grimaced. "I know... I know he probably was. And I hate that."

"Alright, then. Tomorrow, when we both get up and go to the lab... the moment he comes through that door, the two of you are going to have a long conversation about this."

Brennan nodded in agreement. She needed to do this, and she couldn't hide from it any longer. So... no matter how scared she was, she was going to tell him everything. And then... she was going to desperately hope that Angela was right, and he did indeed feel the same way about her.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It was with great trepidation that Booth stepped into the lab the following morning. He was still feeling exhausted from the night before, and the thought of the day ahead of him wasn't helping matters.

He was going to have to talk to her, that much was obvious. And he still had no idea what was going on with her. Seeing her now... it might make things better, or it might make them worse. There was no way for him to be sure which way it would swing. The only thing he knew was that he had to address this, and try to get her to _talk_ to him.

If she told him what was wrong, he could try to make it better. Did this have to do with the pregnancy, or was it something else entirely? He felt out of the loop, and lost.

Desperately, he wanted to just pull her into his arms. He wanted to be like Hodgins and Angela, when they had been pregnant. He wanted to be sleeping beside her every night and holding her to him. He wanted to be there the first time the baby kicked, and he wanted to be at every appointment she went to. He wanted to hold her hand when they found out if it was a boy or a girl. He wanted to murmur 'I love you' to her like it was normal, like the words were familiar on his tongue, and he could easily expect her to whisper them back to him.

He wanted to kiss her, and make love to her again like they had that night.

But those were the things that scared him the most, because he still had no clue what she was thinking. The way she was acting... made him think she didn't want him around at all. And yet, he got the sense that she did, as well. It was a push-pull situation.

He was starting to think that maybe she was just as confused as he was.

It would explain a lot.

What if he just went ahead with it, though, and told her the truth? If he explained how much he wanted more, and how much he cared for her... would she react like she had the times before? She had pulled away from him once, but that had been because she thought she couldn't handle it. Because she had wanted to protect him. With the pregnancy, they were both knee-deep in this. Together. Maybe she needed him to lean on as much as he needed to lean on her.

He couldn't risk it, though. Couldn't risk her not returning his feelings. Because if she didn't, then he'd have ruined everything. And he couldn't leave her to deal with this on her own. He couldn't make her feel like she was isolated in this just because she didn't feel the same way about him as he felt about her. That wouldn't be fair, by any measure.

To either of them.

His gaze scanned over the platform and her office, and he frowned as he realized she wasn't in either location. Angela was up on the platform, working at a computer station. Cam was with her, arms crossed standing behind her and watching the changes on the screen. Wendell was standing with his hands rested on the edge of the table that contained the victim's skeleton. Even Sweets was there, talking to one of the lab people and nodding his head. Booth recognized her as being the part-time psychology student the shrink had mentioned once before.

And then, suddenly, there she was, coming around the corner from the stairs that led to bone storage. She was heading for her office, but she glanced in his direction and stopped short when her eyes connected with his. She hesitated, and then started towards him before he could do the same. He waited for her to come his way, rather than going to her.

"Hi," she said tentatively, stopping a few feet in front of him and offering a nervous smile.

At once, he felt relief wash through him. She was ready to talk about this, too. She wanted to, as much as he did. And she was just as terrified as he was, too.

"We need to talk," he said, stating the obvious but offering a reassuring smile as well, to show that he was here to figure this out, not to complicate things.

She returned it in warmer measure, bobbing her head.

"Maybe... if we went to my office?"

He nodded in agreement, but they only barely reached the door before the sound of shattering glass drew both of their attentions back towards the lab behind them.

At first, nothing seemed out of place. The platform was just the same as before, and no one had dropped anything. But as his eyes quickly swept across where the team was standing, he found the doors sliding open.

And the next second, a half-dozen armed men swept in, guns raised and faces covered with ski masks.

**Please, please, _please_ let me know what you thought, and whether or not my explanation at the top made any sense.**


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

_June 2__nd__, 2011_

Booth's gun was out in an instant, his eyebrows drawing together and his jaw clenching as he took a few automatic steps in front of her. Much to his relief, he saw her step behind him from the corner of his eye, and he let out a small breath of relief, the entirety of his focus turning back to the threat in front of him.

There were seven of them, he realized, doing a quick count as they swept in. Screams erupted from the other side of the lab, as the few other scientists who were present this early in the morning saw the danger coming towards them.

When he turned that way a slight fraction, he saw another two armed guards coming through the doors on the opposite end, cutting off the squints who had tried to flee that way. Orders were being shouted, but they were muffled from the distance and the masks that the invaders were wearing.

He saw the scientists dropping, though, laying flat as the guards moved towards them, guns pointed down at them as they paced through their prone bodies.

They began to collect cell phones.

"Text someone," he hissed to Bones.

There was no way to tell if she heard him or not. He moved himself more fully in front of her, holding his gun up level with his sight.

"Put the gun down!" one of the masked men called to him, coming forward with his arguably larger gun trained on his chest. "Do not be stupid!"

Booth didn't falter. "FBI!" he shouted.

The man turned towards one of his companions, giving a short bark of laughter.

A gasp from the platform drew his attention, and apparently Brennan's as well, because he heard her sharp intake of breath behind him, and she took two steps out from behind him. He reached a hand out warningly, and she stopped short. But he knew that her instincts were telling her to help.

The familiar buzz of the security system granting access rang through the air, now a chilling sound instead of an expectable, friendly one.

Two of the men mounted the steps, guns leading the way, and started towards Cam, Wendell, Sweets, Angela, and the other squints who were unlucky enough to be present.

"Toss your phones," one of them said, his voice sharp. "And lie down. Facedown. Hands behind your back."

Brennan's hand landed on his back, making him jump slightly. He could feel her trembling.

"Gun. Down." The same man in front of Booth was stressing, tipping his head and nodding towards the platform. The _or else_ in that sentence hung silently between them. Gritting his teeth, Booth lifted the gun and turned it sideways as he raised his hands above his head. Carefully, watching the other men for any changes in their aggression, he reached up to reapply the safety before the set the gun on the ground. "Kick it," the man told him icily.

His eyes hard with fury and his muscles tense with fear as he was all-to-aware of Brennan behind him, he kicked the gun away, watching it skitter across the hard floor to where one of the other gunman bent down to pick it up and tuck it in the back of his pants.

A few of them had ski masks with mouth openings, and he could see them now smiling. Everything was going according to plan, and Booth very much wanted to injure them severely for it. They were invading Bones' kingdom. This was her place, not theirs. And it was his, too, in many ways.

He felt helpless now, without his gun, and he took a step back so he could feel Brennan's warmth behind him and know that she was shielded.

They weren't going to let that last.

"Both of your cell phones. Toss them here."

He pulled his out, and felt Brennan bending down to slide hers across before he followed suit. Both the phones were tossed into a bag. They clacked against the other phones that had been collected, and the bag was passed to the man on the stairs, who moved up to gather the phones on the floor of the platform, which had been removed from the other squints.

Now, one of the men moved forward at the order of the one who had been speaking with Booth. Clearly, he was the man in charge of the situation. This other man advanced, and Booth backed up a pace, pushing Brennan with him.

The armed man chuckled, and the sound sent chills through Booth's veins. His hands found one of Bones' and squeezed lightly. She responded in like, refusing to release her hold on him until they were physically forced apart with the barrel of the gun.

Booth had to resist the urge not to carry out the move running through his head. He knew how to disarm. He was a pro at it.

But doing it now... was not going to help them. They were outnumbered, and in grave danger.

On top of that, security had obviously been damaged in some way, because no alarms had gone off, and these men had possessed a security card that allowed them onto the platform. He wondered if the security officers were even still alive, but then pushed the thought away. They had a lot more things to worry about, and there was little he could do to help them if they _were_ dead by now.

His handcuffs jingled as they were taken from the back of his belt. For a split second, fear coursed through him as he thought they were going to cuff Bones, but instead the gunman latched one of the cuffs around his right wrist and then snapped the other around the railing of the platform, trapping him down below.

And then he almost wished that they had indeed used the cuffs on her, if it would mean her being stuck here instead of him. Because the other man, the leader, was shoving her up against the side of the platform, a few feet away from him but enough to be out of his reach. As the other man frisked him and took away his second and third guns, the leader took his time checking Brennan over.

She closed her eyes, her chin jutting out defiantly as she bit her tongue and forced herself not to fight back. He could practically read her fears as they mirrored his.

But when the leader was done running his hands up and down her body with unnecessary and infuriating thoroughness, he stepped away. With a nod to the other man, he headed towards the platform.

It was the second man who yanked her arms behind her and zip-tied them far more tightly than was needed. An involuntary sound escaped her throat, and he laughed.

On the platform, the others had been gathered together, even those who attempted to flee to begin with. They were sitting with their backs against the opposite railing, hands bound with zip-ties as well.

It had only been a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity had passed.

Bones was seized by her upper arm and forcibly dragged past him towards the stairs. She sent him one wide-eyed look, and then she was gone up the stairs, and she was held with her back to him, the only one standing with the gunmen. He didn't like the implication—the focus they were putting on her. Like they knew who she was, and her importance in this place.

It shouldn't have surprised him, though, given how well they had already pulled this off. If they knew how to get past security so easily, it should be expected that they'd done their homework on Brennan while they were at it.

Still, he could only watch in fear as the rest of this event began to unfold. It was clear they were only getting started—this was the first part of the plan. Now... they were going to go for whatever it was that had motivated them to invade the lab to begin with. They had to have a purpose.

"I'm going to make this very simple," the leader said, standing on Brennan's other side and toying with his gun before pressing it to her temple. He saw her tense, but couldn't see the expression on her face from his angle. He could see Angela's, though, and it was white with terror. "I want the evidence pertaining to the Nathan Kaminski investigation. All of it."

No one spoke, either to argue or to agree. They all just... stared at him. Waiting for more. Waiting for some sort of instruction. No one dared to move.

"You," he said at last, his gaze drifting over the members of the team and landing on Cam, "Get up."

Two of the armed men pulled her to her feet, and one sliced the ties on her hands, freeing her. As they dumped out a plastic container full of evidence on another case and set it on the table for her to fill, Booth took stock of the entirety of their situation.

Nine men in total had entered the lab area, although there could easily be a few more outside. All of their positions had shifted, and there was one man standing at each end of the lab, watching the doors. Another paced along the wall on Booth's side of the platform, occasionally coming closer to walk by with his gun trained on the agent's back. The other six paced the platform or stood stiff with their guns trained on the captives.

Cam began to gather things from the tables, moving to Hodgins' station and gathering up the secured samples with shaking hands.

"If you should fail to give us anything, I _will_ blow her head off," the man added, nudging Brennan's temple again with the barrel of the gun.

Cam nodded rapidly, her eyes flicking up to meet Brennan's for just a fraction of a second before she returned to her task.

It was killing all of them, giving everything up—ruining their chances at getting justice for the victim. But they didn't have much of a choice, and Booth would gladly sacrifice a case to keep Brennan safe.

In his head, he was keeping stock of the evidence they might be able to gain from this raid. Obviously these thugs were involved in Kaminski's death. And in all likelihood, they were also involved with the large-scale drug operation that the team had begun to look into. This was them cleaning up, or at least trying to. A lot of people didn't realize just how smart the people who ran drug operations were. They were thorough, like this. They had more guns than they knew what to do with, and they weren't afraid to do whatever it took to protect their goods. Money was king, and drugs were money in their world.

It was either do this or lose their livelihoods.

Why they hadn't taken care of the evidence before, though, and disposed of the body on the same night as they killed him, was the one thing that confused him. Maybe they had sent someone inexperienced, who hadn't carried out the plan properly? Maybe they had been interrupted?

There was no way of knowing at this point.

Brennan grimaced as Cam began to gather up the bones from the examination table. Booth saw movement, and saw as the man in charge pulled a pocketknife out, snapping it open behind Brennan's back. He opened his mouth, ready to shout a warning for her, but then the knife sliced up and cut through her bonds, and she gasped and lurched forward.

"Help her," he commanded briskly, giving her a push. Shaking, Brennan moved and joined Cam at the table, picking up each bone in turn and placing it in the box. "Quickly," he insisted, having followed her to keep the gun close by her head.

Now he could see her face, and how pale it was. Her long, thin fingers seemed to blur as they shook. This was the sort of thing she was prepared for. The sort of thing where he expected her to be resilient and defiant. It had always been one of his greatest concerns—her getting herself killed by saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. But now... now she was quiet and compliant. She was doing as she was told, and she was visibly terrified.

It shook him to his core, to see her like this. He knew why, of course. The pregnancy changed everything—when it was just herself, she could be brave and strong and ready to do whatever it took. In this situation, she wasn't alone. She wasn't prepared for this sort of thing, and that was scaring her, too.

She was going to make a great mother.

When they were finished, Cam was shoved back down with the others. Bones still stood next to the box of evidence.

"Pick it up," the leader instructed, at the same time signaling to his men.

This was where it was going to get complicated, and Booth felt all the tension of the past few minutes gathering together into this one moment.

_Please just leave. Take the evidence. Don't hurt her..._

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Let's go," he said gruffly, his face close to her ear and the gun hovering only inches from the back of her skull. She closed her eyes, breathing in sharply through her nose before complying.

_Stay calm. Stay calm, _she chanted to herself internally.

They moved down the stairs, and with every step that she took away from her team, from Booth, she felt her heart rate picking up.

She could feel their stares on her back, but she didn't dare turn around to meet them.

_They'll take the box at the door and leave you behind,_ she tried to reassure herself. But it did little for her, especially as they got closer to the door and there was no indication that it was any part of the plan.

Hesitating, fight or flight starting to kick into effect, she slowed her pace as they reached the doors. The leader turned to her, as if surprised by this reaction. She pulled to a complete stop as the gunmen in front of them headed through the sliding glass and out towards the main doors.

"Move," the leader said firmly. Two of the other gunmen pressed close behind her, and she swallowed.

"Take the evidence," she said. The first thing any of them had said to the captors, outside of Booth's shout to inform them he was FBI.

"Oh, I intend to," he said quietly. "And if you intend to live... it would be in your best interest to cooperate to the _fullest_. Now... move."

"No," she said, her voice firm even though she had been so sure it would tremble. "We... we aren't going to follow you. Just... take the box."

He smiled, tipping his head to the side as if she were a curiosity to him.

"You're as bold as I had expected, you know, Dr. Brennan. If you prefer us to kill you here, in front of your friends, instead of in the parking lot... then have it your way."

She shook slightly, her heartbeat roaring in her ears.

"Why?" she demanded, her voice low. She wondered if the others could hear this conversation, or if they were in the dark, wondering.

"Because, sweetheart—" the way he said the word sent a chill through her "—this case isn't any of your business. And it seems to me that _you_ are the reason this lab is so successful. That, and it's a powerful message. A _warning_ to your friends, that they will meet similar fates if they don't cooperate."

She clenched her teeth, resisting the urge to argue. Telling him her team would never give up would only suggest to him that it would be a good idea to kill them _all_. And that wasn't something she planned to let happen.

The leader didn't seem interested in speaking with her anymore. He nodded to the two men behind her, and one took the box while the other zip-tied her hands together once more. She swallowed harshly, blinking to force away the liquid building up in her eyes.

They planned to kill her, and there really wasn't much she could do about it.

The one with the evidence went ahead, and the leader signaled to the one, larger man left behind before following. He pulled out his weapon and turned to her, turning her around and pressing her against the wall face first.

Her breaths grew shallow, and her gaze blurred even as she tried to seek out Booth's face one last time.

"No!" she heard him roar, at the same time as Angela screamed, "Bren!"

The safety clicked on the weapon pressed to the back of her skull.

"Please," she found herself whispering, "Please, _please_, don't kill me. Don't kill me. I'm pregnant... _I'm pregnant_..." her words wound into each other, until she was pleading in desperation, barely aware of the words.

She could not die. That was the only thing that mattered in that moment. All of her pride and her dignity washed away. This wasn't about being brave, this wasn't about holding her head high and accepting her fate. She would beg if that was what it took.

Because she wanted to live. She wanted to live, and she _needed_ to live. Because she needed her child to survive. Needed with a passion unlike anything she'd ever felt before.

The gun did not go off—her captor seemed to be hesitating.

And then the pressure of the barrel on her skull went away, and she felt him step back. He was gone out the doors, and she trembled against the wall for a long moment before she slid down it, her legs crumpling out from underneath her.

Sirens played in the distance.

Too late.

But she was alive. She was _alive_.

Through her haze, she heard Booth shouting, "Bones! _Bones!"_ He was fighting the cuffs to no avail, and she raised her head and shook her tangled hair out of her face, blinking until she found him.

"I'm okay!" she called, a helpless sort of relief bubbling inside of her, and an incredulous smile forming across her face. Booth did not match her expression with a smile of his own. His face was white and his eyes wide.

He was okay, too, she could see, and that only relieved her further.

Thank goodness... they were all okay. They'd all survived.

And it had been less than ten minutes since Booth has stepped through the doors, and she had been prepared to talk to him.

She needed to tell him now, more than ever. No more holding back, not when things could change so quickly. She had almost died, only a moment ago. Without telling him the truth. Without telling him she loved him.

The sirens were louder now, and suddenly gunshots sounded. Outside the building, but they still made her jump with alarm.

She forced herself into action, pushing her back against the wall for leverage and clambering back to her feet. Her legs were shaky, but she shook her head to clear it and then moved with purpose, heading straight to Booth.

When she got close, she stumbled forward, half falling into his chest as he wrapped his free arm around her, gasping a ragged breath into her hair.

"Bones..." he whispered, clutching her to him. Her shoulders shook, but she fought back the tears that were threatening her. There wasn't time for that. Not now.

"We need a knife, or something sharp," she said, glancing up to the others on the platform, who were all staring at her.

"I've got a letter opener in my office," Cam said, attempting to push herself back to a position that would allow her to get to her feet. But Brennan was already heading there, turning herself so she could pull the door open from behind her back.

Digging through the desk was the biggest issue, but it was luckily right on top, and she hesitated before bringing it with her instead of just using it for herself right then.

Booth had the ties cut with ease in a moment, but there was little she could do for him. They had taken the key with them, and he didn't have the spare on him. Before she went up to the platform to free the others, though, she hesitated.

He seemed to understand, because he held his arm out, and she gladly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face into the warm skin over his heart and hearing it's reassuring thrum.

Neither of them said anything, and then she was stepping away again and mounting the stairs.

It felt good to be free, to not have a gun aimed at her head, to not be restricted by bindings. But at the same time... she still felt shaky. A numbness was spreading through her, and she knew it was probably some sort of residue from the shock. Hopefully it would fade.

She went to Angela first, the closest person to her, and cut her loose with ease, moving on to Wendell, Sweets, and Cam, at which point her boss gently removed the letter opener from her grasp and took on the task of freeing the others.

Brennan fell into the nearest chair, and Angela squeezed her shoulder.

No one spoke much beyond the occasional murmur.

When the doors opened, everyone turned towards them with terror as the first instinct.

But it was the FBI, with Charlie at the front and Agent Shaw behind with other agents whom she did not recognize. After that, everything seemed to blur together.

Booth was freed, medical attention arrived to tend to the injured security guard from the entrance by the parking garage, and the security personnel in the office who had allowed the criminals' access were questioned.

Brennan found out, through listening more than enquiring on her own, that their captors had threatened the families of the security men, giving them details about their children's schools and their wives jobs, telling them they had men positioned at their houses. Showed them surveillance pictures and gained their compliance in return for reassurance that their loved ones wouldn't be harmed.

When Hodgins came through the doors, his eyes wide and his fear palpable, Angela was still on the platform, arms wrapped around herself and nodding to the questions that Shaw was asking. She had already agreed to sketch as best she could, although she wasn't sure how much she was going to get seeing as they had all worn masks. When she saw Hodgins coming towards her, though, she seemed to forget all about the investigation, running down the stairs—the security had now been fully disabled for the purposes of easy access while the FBI presence was so high—and into his arms.

Brennan watched from a distance, smiling softly to herself and waiting until they'd had a moment to talk before she moved forward.

"You got my message," she said, stopping beside the couple.

Hodgins ran a hand through his curly hair, nodding emphatically. "Yeah... yeah, I got it. About five minutes after you sent it, unfortunately, but... I hope it did some good."

"It did," she assured, turning to look around the lab at all the people, both FBI and Jeffersonian employees. "We're all free, and we're all safe..."

"And I heard they got a few of the guys?" Angela added, turning to Hodgins for confirmation. He was the only one of them who had been outside of the lab in the aftermath.

He nodded. "Yeah, they were covering up a body when they let me through, and they had another guy in cuffs."

"Good. Maybe we can figure out everything we need to know from just him," Angela was saying. But Brennan's mind had gone elsewhere.

They would have killed her. Had planned to take her out with them and leave her, shot in the head, on the ground in the parking garage. It was reminiscent of so many other past experiences—the threats that had been uttered at her in El Salvador, the attack she had faced from the Gravedigger in that very same garage—and she couldn't shake the image in her head. Because, had she failed to dissuade that gunman, hers would have been one of the bodies they found in that parking garage. One of the bodies they were covering up as Hodgins came through.

She shivered at the thought, her hand reaching across herself almost subconsciously to rest on her abdomen.

"Sweetie?" Angela said softly, and she glanced up to find both of her friends looking at her with unabashed concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said at once. "Just... a little shaken."

"Maybe you should have... someone take a look at you," Hodgins suggested tentatively.

She grimaced, but found herself starting to agree. She wanted to ensure the baby was fine, even though she had come to no physical harm herself and it was unlikely her unborn child had been upset in the least by the ordeal they'd just gone through.

Hesitating for a moment, she finally nodded.

"After," she said, though, firmly, and both he and Angela nodded in agreement.

There were other things that needed to be done first.

Gradually, the lab cleared. Crime scene tape lined the platform, and a few FBI techs were still collecting samples—even though she had explained multiple times that they had all worn gloves and the only prints would be from her and her team—but the old feeling did not return. The place was not the same. It had been invaded. Its borders had been crossed, its threshold betrayed.

No, things were not the same.

Booth came towards her, as she was stepping away from confirming her official statement with Agent Shaw, and she stopped and turned to close the distance between them, smiling cautiously and trying to read him.

They hadn't gotten much time to talk, or to be alone. Everything had been pure chaos, and he'd been busy directing the FBI and giving his statement to the other agents while she'd been trying to help maintain what little evidence might be present.

"Hey," he said softly, stopping directly in front of her. His smile was tight, but his eyes danced with a warmth when they met hers, and she was glad for it.

"Hey," she echoed, biting her lip nervously.

He paused, opening his mouth but not saying anything, and then he finally glanced towards her office and she took the initiative, touching his arm and then leading the way. He followed gratefully.

When the door shut behind them, it was a welcome relief. Solitude.

She pulled the blinds, and turned at last to find him standing beside her couch. He had chosen not to sit, and she didn't blame him. She felt an odd sort of exhaustion after the raid, but a restlessness had come with it, that made sitting still almost impossible. She wanted to keep occupied; she wanted to be _doing _things.

Neither of them said anything, for a long while.

"They were going to kill you," he said at last, in a strangled voice. His eyes were locked on her face, refusing to let go. She understood the urge—she was doing the same thing to him, trying not to imagine how today could have ended differently. If anything had happened, to either of them...

She chewed on her lip for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes," she whispered. He had not asked a question, but it had felt like one, nonetheless.

He nodded slightly, his face hard.

"I couldn't have survived that, Bones," he whispered finally. "I wouldn't have... been _able_ to. Not... not losing you."

"The baby," she murmured, and for the first time, she felt kindred with Booth's resolve. She was second to their child. That was how it was supposed to be. And she saw that now. It didn't matter if he didn't feel the same way about her. She loved him, he loved the baby.

And they were all alive.

Nothing else mattered.

A crease formed in his brow, and he stepped closer. But he didn't say whatever it was that was on his mind. He just sort of... watched her. Waiting for her to make the next move.

"This morning, I came here... hoping to see you. To talk to you," she admitted. "And to tell you... that I'm sorry about the other night." He opened his mouth to say something, but she overrode him, continuing, "It was wrong of me to get so angry with you, and to not explain myself. And I shouldn't have run out like that."

Now he waited again, his mouth shutting.

He needed the explanation that she had failed to give before, and she felt her heart picking up its pace again. She could do this; she could tell him the truth.

"Booth..." she shook her head, and then, reminiscent of the night she told him she was pregnant, a small laugh escaped her lips. She couldn't believe she was doing this. It was hard enough, telling Angela. It had been nearly impossible convincing _herself_ it was true. To tell _him_, now... was terrifying her. "I'm in love with you," she whispered, shaking her head, the corners of her vision starting to twinkle. She blinked the moisture away. "I have been for... for I don't know how long. And I just... I can't keep it to myself anymore. I don't... I don't want you to be in this, not knowing the truth, and you didn't get a say, with the pregnancy... but I don't want you to give up everything for me. I don't want this to be about—about the wrong things. And I know that... you'll make a great father. I don't know how to be a parent, but I'm going to try, and I just—"

She was rambling, and she knew it. But she couldn't seem to make herself stop, until he moved forward. It was his step that cut her off, and she stopped short, biting her lip and staring up at him, feeling horribly vulnerable and helpless. Much like the night she'd told him she was pregnant, she had no clue how he was going to react.

But his eyes... they were smiling before the emotion even reached the rest of his face. He didn't sweep her into his arms, though, or kiss her. She ran her tongue over her lips, trembling slightly with the uncertainty.

He hesitated, and then reached out to place his hands gently on the shoulders, meeting her gaze seriously.

"You crazy, beautiful woman," he whispered, shaking his head. Her eyes widened with confusion, and then he laughed. It was a beautiful, warm sound. It engulfed her like the comfort of his arms, and she found a smile growing on her face even though she didn't know why.

She was still very, very confused.

"I love you," he said, answering the unspoken question. The three words were incredulous with disbelief, but she realized that it wasn't because he didn't believe them himself... but because of something else entirely. Because he hadn't thought she would doubt it.

_Angela was right_, was the last thought she had before he pressed his lips against hers, and then all thought disappeared entirely as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, returning the kiss with a passion.

It wasn't like before, at all. This was warm, and loving, and tender. It was like she had always imagined things would be, in the long run. It was like coming home, to a place she hadn't even known she'd been missing.

Now, she never wanted to leave.

Her lips parted, and they explored each other eagerly, her tongue tracing along his lips and tangling with his as they clung to one another. He tasted off coffee and peppermint and something that was undeniably _Booth_. She remembered it from before, but it was so much better now. So much more... _hers_.

They finally parted for air, both of them gasping, and they met each other's eyes, freezing for a long second before they both burst into uncontrollable laughter. She couldn't have explained it if anyone had asked, but something about it was just... right. It was them, through and through.

He pressed his forehead against hers, chuckling warmly.

"God, we should have done this years ago," he murmured.

She nodded in immediate agreement. "I should never have turned you down," she whispered.

But he shook off the apology, smiling reassuringly. "We both... we both needed to figure some things out. And I'm not proud of how I handled things, either. So I think we're even."

That drew another laugh from her. Always with the balance sheet...

"We're going to be a family," he murmured, and when she smiled back, a tint of fear in her eyes, he kissed her again, quickly and gently before he pulled back to meet her eyes. "You and me are going to figure all of this out, I promise, Bones. We're going to do it together. All of it, from now on."

She answered with another kiss, drawing this one out longer until he carefully pulled back. When she met his eyes with a frown of disappointment, he laughed.

"We've got... all the time in the world, Bones. But... our team is out there. And—"

"We should be with them," she cut in, already nodding her agreement. "You're right."

They hesitated at the door, and then he opened it and ushered her out before him. As it shut behind them, he glanced down at her hand, and she reached over to twine her fingers through his.

They didn't walk like that, though. She just squeezed his hand, and he returned the motion. And then they reverted to the way things used to be with them, the way they had always been, which was how they always should be, she realized. He placed his hand gently on the small of her back, and she turned to him, a smile on her lips, before they headed towards the lounge, where the others were gathering.

**A/N: Alright. So, this chapter makes me nervous. Feedback on it would be amazing, because I need to know how well I did with it. It was a challenge to write it, and I actually _re_-wrote a large chunk of it before I was happy with it. Share your thoughts, I'm begging you. Every review means a lot, and I appreciate the critical ones, too, because it means you care enough to try and help me do better with these stories. And I take it all to heart, trust me. **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: The reponse to the last chapter was just... phenomenal. I can't thank you all enough. I hope you continue to enjoy this story as it unfolds. **_  
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_Chapter 11_

_June 2nd, 2011_

The group looked up as they came up the stairs to the lounge, and Angela smiled with soft relief, looking between them as though she could tell something had changed. But she didn't speak, just nodded to Brennan as they took the open spots on the couch next to Cam.

"You all okay?" Booth asked generally, glancing from face to face and settling on Sweets, who was still pale and looking withdrawn from the group.

A few nodded, and some of them murmured something akin to what Brennan would be expected to say in this sort of situation.

No one actually believed the "_I'm fine_" that seemed to echo around the circle.

Angela got up, and went to the espresso machine to make them coffee. No one really spoke, and Booth got the feeling that it wasn't just because they had joined the group and changed the dynamic. It was as if they'd already been silent long before he and Bones had arrived.

The artist handed each of them a cup and sat back in her seat, picking up her abandoned mug from where she'd left it on the end table and taking a long sip from it.

"Did they recover any of the evidence?" Brennan asked, breaking the silence.

Hodgins nodded. "Yeah, they got a couple of my slides and one of the vials of particulates that spilled when they ran for it after they realized the FBI had arrived. I'm not sure how useful they'll be, or if they're too contaminated for use... but I'll make do with what I can."

"None of the bones?"

"No, they got away with the skeleton," he reported dejectedly, sighing and leaning back heavily into the cushion behind him. Angela wound her fingers through his, and he smiled softly at her, his expression tense despite the gentle motion of his thumb stroking along the edge of her hand.

"Dr. Brennan," Sweets said, and she turned towards the psychologist with an expectantly raised eyebrow, waiting for the question she could feel him mulling over. When he finally asked, his voice was nearly strangled, and his complexion more pale than it had been even during the ordeal. "Why didn't they kill you?" he whispered.

She took a sharp breath, and Booth tensed beside her, watching the way her lips parted and then closed again almost immediately as they sought out an answer.

He didn't know why, himself, but he had already decided not to ask her until he was sure she was ready for that sort of conversation. They'd dropped enough heavy stuff on each other recently to last a life time. He hadn't thought more would be necessary, at least not in the same day. Clearly, Sweets saw merit in posing the question, though. Maybe it was based on a professional perception, but he had a feeling it was on more of the friend platitude. He was asking because he had been as worried as the rest of them. And he wanted answers, now, even though it wouldn't change anything. The answers just... _seemed_ necessary. To clear even a little bit of the confusion that today had presented.

She glanced at Booth, her eyes wide and questioning, and he knew. He knew without even asking, and his gut clenched.

The conversation had been impossible to hear from his position, but he'd gotten the gist of it. He'd known that she was making her stand, and that it could only be because she didn't think she had any other chance. And then, when they'd tied her again, when she'd been pressed against that wall... he'd thought his world was about to be destroyed.

He'd have done anything, anything at all, to trade places with her. To save her from that bullet as the gun was cocked against the back of her head.

And she had said something, something that he hadn't been able to understand. But he'd heard the sob in her voice, the desperation, and he'd seen the look on the armed man's face—or at least, in what little of his face was visible with the mask—and he'd watched as he'd stepped back with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude washing through him.

He'd hardly dared to think it was true when that last gunman vanished after the others, leaving her there against the wall, alive.

There was only one thing she _could_ have said that would have spared her life. And knowing it now... it washed everything out of him. Left him empty, unsure of how to feel. Should he be grateful that she had been spared because of the pregnancy? Or sick that if that hadn't been the case she would surely be dead now, with him having been forced to witness her murder?

Now, though, she was looking at him, waiting for his guidance. He knew the answer, but a lot of the people in this group had no clue. They were waiting for her to respond, and she was waiting to see if he was okay with telling them all.

He smiled at her, reaching down to take her hand in his and give it a squeeze.

She returned the smile, although it was with some hesitation, and then she bit her lip and looked around at the group. Angela was torn between her feelings about the implications and her pleasure over the pregnancy, and the war was visible on her face. But Hodgins was smiling softly, nodding to himself. Sweets, Cam, and Wendell were all watching Brennan expectantly, curiosity creasing their brows.

She met each of their gazes one by one, and then opened her mouth and ran her tongue nervously along her lower lip.

"I... I'm pregnant," she admitted, and he watched with her for the reactions.

Sweets' jaw just sort of fell open, but Cam's face broke into a huge smile, and her gaze cut back and forth between the two of them before she laughed.

"Congratulations. Both of you."

"Yeah, that's great news," Wendell agreed, nodding eagerly. "Congrats."

"Clearly, you both knew already," Cam added, looking pointedly at Angela and Hodgins, who both grinned unabashedly.

"Can't keep much from us," Hodgins pointed out. Angela gave him a look that made Booth chuckle.

"You mean me, I think," the artist corrected with a raised eyebrow.

"Ah, but you can't keep anything from me. So it applies."

She shook her head, but she was laughing.

"Congratulations," Sweets said belatedly, recovering from the shock. "I... had no clue you two were even... together."

"We, uh... weren't," Booth tossed in, grinning ruefully.

"Ah," Sweets said, looking uncomfortable.

"Is this going to... change things? With the FBI?" Brennan asked, her concern coming to the forefront. It had occurred to Booth as well, but he had decided not to bring it up.

The shrink swallowed. "I will have to report the change in your relationship, if you are... together, now. _But_," he added, as her alarm became more obvious, her fear tightening and her grip on his hand mirroring it, "I will recommend for mandatory couples therapy to be resumed, and that is all."

Brennan frowned, her confusion evident. "What... does that mean?"

"You'd let us work together?" Booth added, leaning forward.

"I see no reason not to. After all, I've been fairly adamant that at least one of you was in love with the other for quite some time now. And you've been working together just fine through your attraction to one another all these years. Obviously there will be changes, because you _are_ in a relationship now—correct?" He waited for their nods, and then went on, "But we'll cover that in our sessions, and any of the problems it might lead to."

"These sessions... they would be _temporary_, right?" Booth queried, tilting his head to the side.

"We'll work it out later. After I've talked to Hacker."

"Well he shouldn't have a problem with inter-office relationships. He was never affected by that rule himself, and I will point out his hypocrisy if he feels the need to enforce it now."

Booth grinned at the fierce way she said it. Hacker wouldn't dare argue with that. She could be a force of nature when she wanted to be, and he felt warm pride swell up in him as he understood, just a little bit more, how strongly she felt about this. How much she _wanted _this. With him.

He gave her hand another squeeze, and she glanced towards him, her smile hesitant and nervous. As if she was wondering if she'd overstepped. But he grinned, and her expression slowly relaxed.

"So, what happens now?" Hodgins asked. "With the... case, I mean?"

"With all the evidence gone, we're going to use this incident as the bulk of our investigation," Booth explained. "Culver is coming by soon to talk to us, and we'll work out those details."

"Culver?" Brennan asked, raising an eyebrow.

He was reminded, suddenly, that she was out of the loop. As was the rest of the lab.

"Yesterday morning I met with Agent Culver from the narcotics division. He was supposed to meet Kaminski at the Founding Fathers, at 4:30."

"The note," Angela said, nodding in understanding.

"Right," Booth said, "And he was expecting some information from Kaminski relating to the clubs that Bones and I checked out."

"Except Kaminski was killed before they met," Cam filled in.

"Precisely."

"Why didn't you tell us about this?" Brennan asked, frowning. It didn't seem like she'd been listening to what anyone else had been saying—she'd gotten stuck on that one point just as he'd suspected she might.

"We were... working our separate areas yesterday," he said lightly, knowing that they didn't need to bring the issue up again, especially not in front of the others. Neither of them had made an effort to speak to each other the day before, and they were both aware of that.

She bit her lip and nodded, looking away.

He almost wanted to pull her away, back to her office, but he stayed where he was. They could talk all they wanted later, and get everything out. Now that they were on the same page, now that they had expressed how they felt and were finally, _mercifully_, together—a thought that brought the grin back to his face—any other obstacle seemed small.

She loved him. She'd told him so _before_ he'd gotten the chance to tell her how he felt about her. Despite the wreck of a morning they had just endured, the walking-on-air feeling was still hovering in the back of his mind.

He wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to take her home with him so they could make love again. And this time, he'd show her just how powerful his feelings for her were. She would never be able to doubt his love for her again, not now that he'd told her and she'd told him.

God, she actually loved him.

He wanted to hear her say it again. And again, and again...

"We need to have a baby shower," was the first thing he heard when he zoned back into the conversation. It came from Angela, of course, who was bright-eyed, her face flush with excitement. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she planned out each aspect.

"I'm only about five weeks along," Brennan was protesting.

Clearly, that didn't dissuade Angela in the slightest. Even Cam was getting in on the excitement, listening eagerly as the artist began to go into detail.

"I've read that it's better to do it early, and I have to agree. We had mine too late—I was ready to take a nap before we even got started, and Jack complained for days about having to put together the new furniture by himself."

"Hey, it wasn't _days_..." he pointed out.

"It might as well have been. But seriously, Bren, we don't have to do it like... next week or something. We should just... set a date for it. It'll be fun, I promise."

But Bones had gone thoughtful now, and he could tell she wasn't listening. She swallowed sharply, apologizing to her friend and avoiding Booth's gaze as she tried to focus more as Angela went on about what games they could play, and how they should or shouldn't repeat certain things that they had tried at her shower.

He placed a hand carefully on her back, and she jumped and turned towards him. Her eyes held a thousand thoughts that he couldn't even begin to decipher, and he knew that they were going to have to address them. Soon.

They hadn't been talking enough about the pregnancy, and now he knew it was because she had been so wrapped up with her emotions regarding him, and her fears about creating a relationship. Now, all the things she'd been holding back seemed to be coming to the forefront, and she was having a hard time keeping it together.

He was starting to have some questions himself, honestly.

Like... where were they going to live? His apartment was equipped to hold him, Bones, and occasionally Parker. But the spare room where Parker slept on the weekends that he stayed wasn't nearly big enough to house a crib as well. Bones' apartment seemed more logical, because it was a lot more spacious, but at the same time he couldn't see moving in there. He had always more so pictured her moving into his apartment with him.

So what did that leave them with, then? Should they consider finding a new place?

Thankfully, Angela was cut off by Culver's arrival, and so was Booth's train of thought. _Later_, he promised himself. They'd talk about it when they were alone. Maybe tonight, when he asked her to come back to his place with him to stay the night. They could discuss everything over Thai food, and maybe for the first time spend an entire night focused on themselves without bringing up anything about work.

The agent came up the stairs, nodding to each of them in turn. Shaw was following behind, clearly having shown him where he could find the team, and she hovered on the top step as Culver moved forward, introducing himself and shaking Brennan's hand before reaching out to do so with the others as well.

"We don't have much," he told them truthfully after he'd settled into a chair, leaving Shaw to try and look occupied at the coffee machine. "I'd like Booth to come with me back to the office for the interrogation of the thug we pulled in. He's got his gunshot wound all cleaned up now, and he's ready for a grilling."

"I'm coming," Bones said, glancing back and forth between the two agents as if she expected an argument.

Culver smiled, giving Booth a knowing look. Booth just nodded to her in agreement. It was about time they got back into their partnership. They might be together, but that didn't mean that things should change too much at work. What they'd had before had been amazing. They needed to add to it—not alter it.

Working together for interrogations was a good first step.

"What about us?" Hodgins asked.

"Well, one of you should probably get back to your kid," Booth suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Hodgins grimaced. "He's got a point," he said, turning to his wife. "Your dad is watching him, and I'm not sure I want him having a more strong male influence on him than me."

She laughed. "Right. Maybe you should get back, then."

He opened his mouth, and then shut it again, looking at her helplessly. Booth understood why—the one day she came to the lab was the day when armed gunmen came in and tied everyone up. Of course he didn't want to be the one going back to the baby. He wanted her away from all of this just as much as Booth wanted Bones away from it.

Angela seemed to understand his hesitation as well, because she pushed herself up to her feet. He followed quickly, and she murmured something to him before the both of them headed for the steps. She waved to the group without any real explanation, and they headed towards her office.

The remainder of the team turned their attention back to Booth.

"Alright, someone can fill them in later. I think it would be best for now if—while Bones and I deal with this—the rest of you focus on making connections between the three bars and figuring out who stole that laptop. I guarantee you they were involved in this somehow, and in the murder."

Cam nodded her agreement, getting to her feet. Wendell and Sweets followed suit. The consensus was clear—it was time to get back to work.

Today had not been easy by far, but they were a tough team. They were getting through this, and they weren't going to let their attackers get the best of them. They were going to get justice, for Kaminski and for themselves.

Booth couldn't help but smile to himself. No one messed with his team and got away with it. No way.

Culver had his own car, so he and Bones got some time to themselves as they exited the elevator into the parking garage. Rather than bringing up the pregnancy, though, she brought up something he really _didn't_ want to talk about.

"They were going to take me out here, with them," she murmured, walking close by his side, her eyes scanning the scattering of vehicles with a new focus in them.

"They didn't," he murmured reassuringly, reaching down to find her hand. It was smooth and tiny in his, and he squeezed her fingers gently.

She nodded, her teeth digging into her lower lip.

But she dropped it, and he was relieved.

It was bound to come up again, of course... but today had been rough enough already. And he didn't want her to think that she _had_ to say anything about it, to him or anyone else. She should take this with whatever speed was necessary, without forcing herself to say things because she thought she was supposed to.

That had never been an issue with her before, though, he reminded himself. Maybe she just... wanted to tell him how she felt.

"I was scared," he admitted, remembering something he'd told her long ago. About how to share information with others. She'd given him something—he wanted to give something back.

She offered him a grateful look, her eyes swimming. "So was I," she said softly.

"I know."

They were silent up until they reached the SUV, but after he started the engine he knew what he wanted to say to her next.

"You should tell Angela, you know, if you're uncomfortable with having a baby shower. She'll understand."

"That's... not what the problem is."

He tipped his head to the side, waiting for an explanation. She took a long time coming up with one, but finally, as they were entering traffic, she spoke again.

"I find myself feeling rather overwhelmed."

"With the pregnancy?"

She nodded.

He thought for a moment, and then made a decision.

"I want you to stay the night with me. Tonight. We can talk about it, and everything else. I don't... I don't want to be away from you."

"Neither do I," she agreed, and then, miraculously, she flushed. His Bones, embarrassed. He couldn't help but grin. "I also... should go see my doctor. Soon."

"Why?" he demanded at once, his eyes widening. Was there something wrong? Had that bastard hurt her, and he hadn't seen it?

"It's nothing," she promised quickly, "After this morning, though... I just thought that it might be a good idea to check. Make sure everything was still moving along properly. I haven't... I haven't had any pregnancy symptoms, like Angela did. No morning sickness, no light-headedness..."

"Headaches?" he questioned, remembering Rebecca's pregnancy.

"A few. But not terrible, and not unusual for me after a long day at work. Although they are more persistent than my usual ones. And I have been experiencing some tenderness in my breasts."

Information he didn't need to know, but at least it seemed to reassure her, saying it out loud. She nodded to herself, staring out the window for a long moment.

"Anything else?" he asked, sensing that there was something she'd left off.

But she wasn't frowning or upset when she turned back to meet his gaze. She was actually smiling a little, tentatively. And then she said, "Well... there's also the chance that the... the baby's heartbeat might be audible at this point."

His face broke out in a huge grin. "We can hear his heartbeat?"

"Her," she corrected almost subconsciously. "And it's unsure at this point."

"Her?"

She opened her mouth, flushing again, this time a deep red. But he was smiling at her, a sort of awe coming over him. It was too soon to find out the actual gender of the baby. He knew that, and so did she.

"It is a... feeling that I have," she admitted, holding her head up as if daring him to tease her for it.

"Rebecca thought Parker would be a boy, you know," he said, still grinning.

She traced her lips with the tip of her tongue. "So you... take stock in that?"

"Hey, you know me. I go by my gut... and I trust yours. A little baby girl, huh? You and me, and a daughter..." he shook his head in amazement. "So, I guess we'll be buying all pink stuff, hmm?"

Her nose crinkled up. "I think we should go with an array of colors, rather than sticking to the stereotypical subset."

"Of course," he agreed. "So like... greens and purples?"

"That would be... acceptable. Angela will probably want to paint the baby room..." her voice trailed off again, her gaze turning to the window. They were nearly at the Hoover, and he knew they didn't have much time to talk. There was time tonight, obviously, but they were in the thick of it right now.

He had no idea how to address the topic, though. It seemed too soon, and too crazy after the day they were having, to mention the idea of getting a new place. Even discussing housing arrangements seemed absurd at this point.

He let it drop, and they were once again quiet as they pulled into his spot outside the building.

Culver met them at the door, and they followed him to the elevator and up to the floor that housed Booth's office and the interrogation rooms that they were both familiar with at this point. It was clear that Culver had made arrangements to accommodate for them. It would have been just as easy for him to set things up over at his unit, on a separate floor.

"Did you call for an appointment?" he asked her lowly while Culver was checking up on the recording equipment in the observation room.

"Yes, earlier. Before I gave my statement to Shaw I made a quick call. Dr. Lee said she would fit me in, considering the circumstances. There was a cancellation, and I caught her just before she filled it."

"Good," he said shortly, just as Culver came out to join them. He gave a brisk nod, and then opened the door to the interrogation room, ushering them in ahead of him. He stayed by the door as they claimed the seats at the table. It was an unspoken thing—he just seemed to understand that this was how they operated. Booth found himself grateful, once again, for how Culver operated. This would never have gone so smoothly with another agent.

The man on the other side of the table was large and well-muscled. One hand was in a sling, and the other was cuffed to the table. Brennan was tense, sitting down stiffly beside him. There was none of the attitude that she sometimes obtained in these situations. Today, she was silent.

He quickly took the lead.

"You have a name?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow questioningly.

The man didn't answer, his focus on Brennan. She stared back, her jaw set and her eyes blazing with something akin to fury. It was mixed with questions, though, and Booth wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Over here," Booth said, rapping his knuckles on the table and drawing the attention away from Bones. "Who do you work for?"

No response. But he wasn't expecting any different. The man blinked slowly, unaffected.

"Listen," Booth said, leaning forward. "Your buddies, the people you're working with? They know you're in here. They're out there somewhere, right now, thinking that you're spilling your guts. They'd be happier if you were like your friend. You know, the other unnamed gunman who got left behind. Only, he went out in a body bag."

Still no response. He turned back to Bones, though, tilting his head.

Booth made a sound in the back of his throat, and then pushed his chair out, loudly. He was tired, and he wasn't in the mood for this. He nodded to Culver, indicating that he could take over.

Bones started to stand as well, but she hesitated before pushing her chair in.

"Why didn't you kill me?" she asked the silent muscle-man, and Booth's eyes widened.

He regarded her for a moment, and then answered with a question, his voice a low rumble. "You actually pregnant?"

She set her jaw, considering her answer.

"Yes," she said at last.

He nodded thoughtfully, and then leaned back in his chair. "I would have," he said coolly. "Could have. Easily."

"But you didn't," she pointed out, leaning forward with her palms flat on the table.

He shrugged. "Most don't think we got morals. Any of us. But I don't kill kids."

"You kill women, though," she said.

He smirked, showing crooked teeth. "Chivalry's pretty dead, lady. When women can kill you... there's no reason not to kill women."

"But that doesn't apply to children," she reasoned.

"They told me you were smart," he said, nodding slowly.

She clenched her jaw, and Booth placed his hand carefully on her back.

The criminal raised an eyebrow to him. He knew the relationship. He could see it, and Booth regretted that instantly. The less this man knew about Bones, and about him, the better.

They moved to the door, leaving Culver to take whatever tactic he thought might work better—after all, he was the one who knew how to crack druggies better than murderers—and one last thing came from the man at the table.

"You're welcome!" he called.

The door shut, and Brennan shivered, closing her eyes and taking a steadying breath.

"Hey," Booth said softly, reaching forward to tilt her chin up with a gentle touch of his finger.

"We've got one of them," she said, her voice only trembling slightly. "That's... a good start."

"Yeah," he agreed carefully. "It's a good start, Bones. We'll get the others, too."

She nodded, but he couldn't tell if she actually believed him.

"How about you and me go get some lunch?" he suggested.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Lunch was a quiet affair, and they talked mostly about the case, only occasionally referencing personal things or the baby. At Brennan's reminder that her appointment was quickly approaching, though, they finished in a hurry and left a larger tip than usual.

Things were different, at the hospital, than they had been on the first visit. Now, he sat close by her side, holding her hand rested loosely in his and tracing his thumb along her soft skin in a slow pattern.

When Dr. Lee called them in, they both stood up eagerly, and Booth flushed as he gave her hand a squeeze, barely containing his grin. With her reassurances, he wasn't concerned that there might be something wrong—surely she would know if there was—and he was more excited about finding out more. And about possibly seeing some images or hearing the heartbeat.

Things were good, now. They would only get better from here, he was sure of it.

Dr. Lee smiled warmly as she gestured for them to take their separate seats—Brennan on the crinkled paper and Booth on the visitor chair, which squeaked loudly as he settled into it.

"I heard you two had a rough morning," the doctor commented, glancing pointedly between the both of them.

"You could say that," Brennan replied tentatively.

"Alright, we're just going to do a quick checkup," Dr. Lee assured them. "If you suffered no injuries, then I doubt there's anything wrong. But I want to make sure."

Brennan nodded, and cooperated as Lee motioned for her to lie down. Booth's leg bounced up and down, and he wanted to get up and hover. But he forced himself to sit still as the doctor first went through a list of questions.

Bones explained her concerns about the lack of symptoms, and Lee explained, smiling gently, that she was reacting differently to the pregnancy than others might. In other words, she was skipping the morning sickness that Angela had so wonderfully endured.

She was going to be so jealous when she found out. Hell, Rebecca would be, too.

Hm. Maybe he should tell Rebecca, at some point. They'd have to figure out a way to explain to Parker, after all.

Dr. Lee was getting out the equipment for the ultrasound, and she turned the monitor so Booth could see as well. Now, though, he got to his feet and came over to stand by Brennan's side. She hissed as the cool liquid landed on her stomach, but smiled a moment later, glancing at Booth before turning to the screen.

They both watched as an image came up.

It was unclear at first, just shapes moving on the screen, and then Lee pointed out a clear part in the center as the image focused and smoothed out.

Booth's gaze only left the image for one reason. A small sound came from Bones' throat, and it almost sounded like a whimper. But when his gaze sought out her face, he found she was staring, openmouthed, at the image. A disbelieving smile on her face and a sparkle in the corner of her eyes. He squeezed her hand, his focus now torn between the image and her face. They were both so beautiful.

"You can see the head here," Lee said, smiling warmly at them and pointing out the part of the image she was referring to. Brennan nodded, although Booth wasn't sure he could see it. He leaned closer; the difference was hard to see, but it was there. Barely.

It didn't matter, though. That was their child. Their _daughter_, according to Bones.

He smiled again, a warm chuckle forming in his throat. Bones turned towards him, finally breaking her eye contact with the monitor, and he bent down to press a soft kiss to her lips.

Lee beamed, clearly pleased that they were developing into what could be considered as proper parents. No doubt they'd probably concerned her somewhat before, with their odd situation and their uncertainty with one another.

"Now, see this?" she said, drawing their attention again. "You're in the late part of your fifth week, according to the date you gave me on your first appointment. And this..." she pointed again, and both Booth and Brennan leaned closer. "Is your baby's heartbeat."

This time, Booth saw exactly what he was supposed to. There was a tiny flicker on the monitor. Almost imperceptible, but very much there. If it was possible, his smile grew wider.

"Can we hear it?" he whispered reverently, his eyes never leaving the screen.

But she shook her head. "Not yet. We generally expect to be able to hear the heartbeat at around ten to twelve weeks. Sometimes later, depending on the pregnancy. We can try at your next scheduled appointment, in July."

Booth wasn't as disappointed as he had expected to be. He just couldn't seem to take his eyes off the flickering image on the monitor. The signs of life inside of Bones' womb. God, this was actually happening.

He was having a hard time grasping it.

"I'll make you a print-out of this," Dr. Lee was saying, gesturing the screen. She offered Bones a towel to clean off the fluid from her abdomen, and then stepped out of the room.

"She's beautiful," Booth whispered emphatically, reaching forward to brush a strand of hair out of Brennan's face.

"She is," she agreed, a dreamy smile on her face. She rested her head back, looking at him sideways, her eyes still sparkling brightly.

"And so are you," he said softly. Her gaze widened, and she bit her lip, her eyes filled with emotion.

"I love you," she whispered, and he felt a prick in his own eyes. Today had been a roller coaster. But it was all okay, if she just kept reminding him of that fact.

"I love you, too," he murmured back, leaning down to kiss her again.

Dr. Lee came back into the room, smiling knowingly at them and then handing Booth an envelope with the image inside. He fought the urge to open it, knowing that he'd have plenty of time to stare at it with her later.

She pushed herself upright again, slipping off the edge of the table to stand beside him.

"I'll see you both next month," the doctor told them, and then showed them out.

"I suppose we should get back to the lab," Booth said as they stepped out into the sunlight and made their way towards the SUV.

For the first time, she actually seemed truly regretful of that fact as she nodded reluctantly.

"They need us."

"You bet they do," he said proudly, nudging her shoulder with his before they split up to go around to their respective sides of the car. "Because we're the center, baby. And no one messes with us."

His grin only grew wider as her only response was, "If you are going to insist on calling me that... then you are going to be letting me drive from now on."

**I know next to nothing about pregnancy, something I think I said previously. But I did quite a bit of online research in the hopes of making this as accurate as possible. So, if anything was horribly incorrect, please let me know. I can go back and edit it. **

**And as always, any and all feedback is greatly welcomed. Let me know what you thought!**


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12_

_June 3__rd__, 2011_

_She stopped short just in front of the sliding doors, and his heart raced as he watched her stiff back. The leader said something to her. He sneered. She said something back, her head turning so he could see the side of her face but no more. He watched as she swallowed prominently, taking a subconscious step back. Two other men were behind her. Keeping a close distance, watching her every move._

_ The leader stepped closer now, getting in her face. He said something, his voice so low that this time Booth didn't even hear the murmur that came with the words. She responded, her voice stronger. But it was high-pitched, and he knew she was terrified._

_ He smiled at her, tilting his head to the side and regarding her with a new sort of interest. It made Booth's skin crawl. Whatever it was that he said next, it was worse than everything that had led up to it. Her face went white, and Booth pulled uselessly at the handcuffs, instantly wanting to be at her side. Forget all the danger, he wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted that expression on her face to go away and never come back._

_ She said a single word. He didn't have to be brilliant at lip-reading to know that it was a simple 'why'?_

_ She closed her eyes when he answered, a shiver running through her slender frame. It only widened the grin visible through the opening in the man's mask. Defiance washed over her features, but she said nothing. _

_ Booth desperately wished he could hear what was going on. He wished he could take her place, because a sick feeling was spinning around in his gut and he had a terrible suspicion about where this was going. _

_ As it began to play out, though, he was trapped in his own mind. Frozen in place, the handcuff pulled tight. He wanted to scream, wanted to _cry_ as the evidence was taken away from her and walked out the door. She looked positively blind with fear as her arms were jerked violently behind her. She was shoved brutally against the wall as the new zip-ties were looped around her wrists and pulled tight._

_ The communication between the leader and his men was silent, but it was obvious. He left, then, with the man holding the evidence, and the one who remained was large and well-muscled. He pulled his gun out, and Booth realized with a sudden flash that it was _his_ gun. The one the FBI had issued to him. And suddenly it was pressed to the back of her head, and he could hear the sharp intake of breath from her as if he was standing right by her side._

_ Or maybe it had come from his own lips. _

_ But it felt like he hadn't breathed since they had come in, so that couldn't be possible._

_ Could it?_

_ He shoved all other thoughts away as the "No!" ripped loose from his throat without any decision on his part to use it. He heard a shout from Angela as well, but had no idea what she had said. _

_ The only thing he could focus on was the fact that Bones was against the wall, pinned, bound, and helpless. There was a gun to her head. She was about to die, and he was about to watch it. He was about to watch as his entire world, as the woman he loved, the woman with his child growing inside of her, was murdered. He was about to lose _both _of them. _

_ The sound of the safety clicking off was like a pin being dropped. Everyone was frozen. Time stood still._

_ And then, she was begging. He had no idea what she was saying, but he could hear the sob in her throat as it echoed off the walls. The desperation made her voice thin and high-pitched, and it wasn't a sound he had ever heard from her. It was raw, and terrifying. He felt like he'd just been shoved into ice water._

_ There was consideration there, on the face of the man. And Booth could see his face, he realized. There was no mask. The face was there, the face from the interrogation room. But he had never seen him before. _

_ He was going to walk away. That was what was supposed to happen in this scenario. Booth could see it. It was a memory. But the scene in front of him was still very real. _

_And so was the sound of the gunshot._

He jolted upright in the bed, and gasped as he looked around, trying to get his bearings. Had he shouted? He was fairly certain he had, but he couldn't be sure. His eyes swept around in the darkness, trying to find the familiar outline of his dresser, or the lamp on the bedside table next to him.

But he found a short, chubby lamp instead, and a low set of drawers with some sort of artifact on top of it. A thin sliver of light came in through the window, but it was from street lights and cars, not from sunrise. The clock said 2:14 a.m.

He was in Bones' bed, he realized after a long moment. His eyes strayed across to the empty space beside him, and the sheets in disarray that showed he had not been alone the whole night. But the spot was cold, as was her pillow.

The absence felt raw, and he swallowed sharply, still caught on the border between dream and reality. The gunman had walked away. He had left her against that wall and she had slipped down to the floor, numb with shock and weak from the fear that had just drained from her.

And yet, without her next to him, he couldn't shake the images that still clung firmly in the forefront of his memory. _That_ shot had gone off.

A light snapped on in the hallway, and it washed into the room through the open door. He lifted his hand up to shield his eyes, wincing and blinking to clear his vision.

"Booth?" her voice said, her form silhouetted in the doorway. She was concerned, and maybe even a bit afraid.

Nothing could have stopped him from shoving off those sheets and scrambling off the mattress to go to her.

"Oh!" she gasped in surprise as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, clutching her to him.

He didn't let go, and she gradually lifted her own arms up to wrap around his shoulders, her slender fingers pressing into his hot skin.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair, his breath blowing a few loose strands away from her face. She didn't say anything in response, but she squeezed her arms around him briefly. And then she pulled back, and he regretfully let her go, stepping back a pace to look her in the eyes.

"You had a nightmare," she said. It wasn't a question.

He reached up a hand to brush it through his hair, and then he nodded. He would have felt self-conscious, normally, admitting something like that. And he still did, to a small degree. But there was something about telling _her_… that made him feel like it was okay. Like she wasn't judging. Maybe it was the way she had said it, like she understood. Like it was expected, like she just wanted to know the details so she could help.

They were so alike that it was hard to remember them ever thinking they were opposites. He would have done the exact same thing for her, if he had been the one to find her in the wake of a dream like the one he had just experienced. And there was nothing, nothing in the world, that would have made him judge her for it, or make her feel like she was worth any less because of it. He would have just… been there.

And she was doing that now, for him. Because she wasn't saying anything. She was just standing there, tilting her head to the side. Waiting to see if he'd say anything more about it.

He couldn't disappoint her as she met his gaze with a protectiveness in her eyes that seemed to burn through him. Connecting them. She didn't need to say the words. He knew how she felt—it was written all over her, from her eyes to the set of her mouth to the softness of her hands as they rested gently on his arms. She bit into her lower lip lightly, her white teeth puckering the pink flesh.

"I'll die if I ever lose you," he whispered raggedly.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She swallowed, and then said hesitantly, "You… you told me that earlier."

"Yeah," he agreed, "But I need you to believe that. Because… I can't live without you. It's just… it's not possible, Bones."

"Okay. I understand," she said reassuringly, fear paling her features. He could see her desperately trying to read him. Trying to understand where this was coming from.

"Today… _yesterday_, was just… a lot on me," he said heavily, stepping back a few paces and blowing out a heavy sigh.

"That's what you had the nightmare about," she reasoned, slowly nodding as she started to put the pieces together. "And… it ended differently."

The way he set his jaw, and how he looked at her after that gave her the answer she was seeking. A look washed over her face, and it was one that he recognized. The look she got when all her personal feelings washed away and were replaced with endless compassion for someone else.. He didn't think she even knew she did it—especially with the way she still managed to claim she didn't have an open heart. There was another thing for him to add to his to-do list. Get her to stop thinking that.

"How did you know?" he asked, his shoulders sagging as the thought hit him. She was good at reading him, but there was something… different about the way she'd said it. Like she was making a connection to herself rather than between rational points.

She hesitated, her eyes following the skyline formed by the shadows of her possessions on the wall.

"I have experienced similar nightmares. Situations that end differently. It was hard to… not experience them. After you… died."

She didn't mean it maliciously, and she wasn't trying to start a blame-game with him. But he felt the blow hit him and knock the air out of him. She didn't talk about it—didn't bring up her feelings about those two weeks. But he had believed Sweets when the shrink had suggested that her anger was overcompensation for the strength of her other feelings. Well… he half-believed it. Mostly, he believed she was so furious because of the feelings that had been forced out of her for no reason. And really, he couldn't blame her. If their roles had been reversed… he would have died himself over losing her. And to have her just show up again, completely calm and collected about the whole thing… well, he wouldn't have been any happier with her than she had been with him, after the relief hit him, of course.

"I'm sorry, Bones," he said softly.

"Don't," she responded sharply, shaking her head. "My intention was merely to explain the facts. It was… years ago. And I… I admit that it helped me realize a lot of things. It's in the past."

He smiled gently. "Still. I'd change it if I could."

She almost laughed. "I'll let you know when someone invents time travel, Booth."

"Ah, so you think you'll know before me? That's not very fair. I'm more up on modern technology than you are. You wouldn't even have a television if it wasn't for me."

"That has nothing to do with it. I would know before you because if the advances in science are going to happen anywhere… it will be at the Jeffersonian. Or at the very least with consultation with one of our top scientists."

He couldn't help but chuckle. The topic had turned light, and he was grateful of that. But of course, it couldn't stay that way. The smile slowly melted away from her face, and she regarded him again with concern, her eyebrows drawn together.

"Are you okay, Booth?" she asked quietly.

He thought about the question, and then pulled her into his arms again. He felt her heartbeat thudding with his.

"Yeah, Bones, I'm okay," he murmured. When he pulled back, though, it was because he had a fresh question on his mind. "What are you doing up at this hour, anyways?"

She flushed slightly. "I was having a hard time getting to sleep. So… I was doing some research."

He let the second part slide for the moment. "Hard time sleeping?"

"I… also experienced an unpleasant dream."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. What exactly had hers entailed? Had it ended the same way as his? He almost didn't want to know, and yet he was desperate to find out at the same time.

She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. "I was unprepared for this pregnancy, obviously. And, because I was caught off-guard, I didn't plan things as well as I would have." He was waiting for her to get to the part about her dream, but already his stomach was clenching uncomfortably. "The anxiety that… comes with that has been keeping me awake much more than I would like."

"And the dream?" he coaxed tentatively. She hadn't pushed him, and he didn't want to push her… but it felt like she wanted to tell him and was just having a hard time with it.

She shook her head. And there were… _God_, were those tears in her eyes?

"Bones…" he whispered in shock. To his relief, she didn't back away or try to push him back when he stepped forward to engulf her in his arms yet again.

"I can't lose this child," she choked into his shoulder. "I can't, Booth…"

"Shh…" he soothed gently, "It's okay, Bones… the doc, she said that there wasn't anything on your tests. She said it was all progressing normally. And you not having the normal symptoms… that's pretty great news since they aren't all that pleasant. It's all okay… our baby is going to be healthy. She's going to be beautiful…"

Bones clutched more tightly around his shoulders, and he nestled her more securely into his shoulder.

One thing he loved about her was how strong she was. How she didn't let anyone push her around, how she spoke her mind, how she could stare death in the face without flinching. It made her all the more amazing in his eyes, even if it scared him to death half the time.

But what so many people missed when they saw all of that… was that she was buried inside of all of that, and she was just like the rest of them underneath. Better. She was tough as nails, but she could also be soft. She could need human contact as much as anyone else, and she could accept help when it was offered. She could cry, even though few had seen it from her.

It didn't mean she did it often. But when she did… it always broke his heart. He was glad to be there, though, at the same time. Relieved, really, to be the one who could soothe her fears. The one who could try and make it better, who could try to coax a smile from her again, and brighten her mood even on the darkest of days.

Her fears did not make her weak. Her tears didn't take away anything from his view on her. If anything, they strengthened it. She needed him as much as he needed her, and neither of them had to hide it anymore.

He didn't ask again what the dream was about. He could surmise enough from what she'd said, and to be honest… he didn't want to hear the details. He didn't want to relive it with her. He wanted to erase it, and fill the spot it left with warm and happy memories.

"You said you were doing research?" he asked, keeping his tone light as he stroked his hand up and down the smooth planes of her back.

She pulled back, brushing quickly at her eyes. He pretended not to notice.

"Yes," she said smoothly. "Angela… gave me an assortment of books on pregnancy and babies in general, and I was looking through them. I have been… putting it off, for a while now."

"Because you were worried about things between us," Booth clarified. Hell, if they were going to be all emotional tonight and talk about their fears… he might as well give them an opportunity to clear some of the other stuff up. He wasn't going to let them tiptoe around the issue anymore. Time to get it out of the way and move on. Although, they had already started them, with their admissions of feelings for one another.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and then she nodded slowly, watching his face with her brows knit together in confusion. As if she was trying to figure out why he was bringing it up. Or how he knew that. Either one.

"Bones… I don't want you to ever have to worry about that again. And if you ever have any doubts, about anything at all… I want you to know that you can talk to me about them. I don't want you to think anything is off limits, because I'm telling you… I will _never _stop loving you."

And of course, that was when the doubt appeared most strongly on her features.

His heart clenched as he watched her trying to put together the right words.

"You told me… a few years ago," she started hesitantly. "That you loved me. And then you… said it wasn't like that. That it was in an—"

"Atta girl kind of way," Booth cut in, nodding.

She bit her lip again, nodding in return. Her eyes were wide, and she was waiting for him to say something. Probably expecting an explanation for that, and his behavior following it. He could see her thought process now, and it brought him little comfort. He did possess an explanation for it… but the issue was going to be trying to make her believe it.

"I was covering," he started. "I had just realized that what I had, the feelings that I had for you… they were real. And I was… well, I was terrified you were going to panic. Or tell me you didn't feel the same way."

She nodded sharply. He couldn't read the expression on her face. Thoughtful was the best description he could give for it.

"So you were in love with me?" she clarified. "Almost three years ago?"

"Yeah. I was."

She looked like she was about to say something, but then changed her mind and took a different course. "I don't know what I would have done, if you had not taken it back. But…" she hesitated, and then came to a complete stop, at a loss.

"What is it?" he said nervously. "You can tell me anything. Anything at all, okay? I need to hear it, and I'd rather know than have you worrying about it. Believe me."

She took a steadying breath. "I was hopeful," she whispered. "For… for that second before you added the 'Atta girl' bit."

"Because you thought I loved you," he filled in, his heart pounding. God, what had he done, all those years ago? He'd given her some sort of hope and then crushed it before she'd even gotten a chance to process. No wonder she had been so worried about his feelings even after he'd started to make it clear he still was interested in having something with her in the wake of Hannah.

"Yes," she whispered.

And, God, she was fighting tears again. Damn if he didn't hate himself in that moment.

"I love you," he said firmly, drawing her focus back to his face. His voice was serious, leaving no room for argument. "I love you so much, Bones. Remember what I said. That isn't changing, no matter what. And… I'm sorry for everything in the past. For that false start on the sidewalk, for the night outside the Hoover, for… for _everything_ that happened after we came back from our trips…"

"Stop," she said, her tone tight and her eyes closed. "Please, just… stop."

He ground to a halt, running his tongue over his lips and swallowing sharply. Her eyes were still closed.

"I don't like it when you try to… to take guilt onto yourself for things I don't blame you for. It's unfair, to both of us. And I would really appreciate it if you stopped. Now."

He stared at her in amazement, and she finally blinked her eyes open, lifting her lids to look up through her lashes at him, carefully reading his surprise.

"I hurt you," he stated, as though it explained everything.

"Yes, you did. And I hurt you, too. We hurt each other. A lot," she added pointedly. "And I've got a lot of regrets. I'm sure you do, too. But I don't _want_ to live with them anymore. I want to just… be with you, Booth. That's all I want. I just want _you_. I don't want to have to live with any of this hanging over us."

"Which is why I was trying to get it out of the way."

"Thank you," she said, and her tone rang with honesty. "I'm glad that you did. But… I don't want to keep talking about it if you're going to start blaming yourself again. Yes, there are things I want answers for. And I'm sure the same applies to you. But my terms remain the same. We each take the blame and agree to move past it. I don't need you trying to bear the guilt or whatever it is for me. Understood?"

He laughed. He couldn't help it; she just amazed him beyond belief sometimes.

At first, she frowned in alarm, maybe even a bit of anger, but then it faded as he just smiled at her and said, "You… are one hell of a woman, Bones. You really are."

"I'm… not sure what that means, but… thank you."

"Alright, so while we're at it… what else did you want to ask me? We were going somewhere with that, weren't we?"

"Yes, we were," she said truthfully. But she glanced towards the door. They were still standing in the middle of her bedroom. "Maybe if we went out to my living room?"

"Excellent plan."

The plan had been to go back to his place last night. And then… one thing had led to another, and they were closer to her apartment, and he hadn't found any reasonable objections. Her place was nice, too. It was _her_, through and through. From the design to the modesty of her decorations. He had always loved going there for takeout and paperwork on late nights, because it was wide open and yet inviting at the same time. With her large flat screen tv, it wasn't hard to picture them living there. Although, the question still remained about how they were going to handle the changes to their living space, what with the baby and Parker.

All in all, though, her place was more acceptable for accommodating a family. He would have to discuss it with her, though. A part of him still had an idyllic picture conjured up, of a grassy front lawn with a couple kids running around. Maybe a dog, too, and a few rows of daisies and daffodils lining the front of the house.

There was no way of knowing where she might stand on something like that, and he pushed it off for another time, storing the pleasant mental image for later reference.

He couldn't help being surprised when they stepped out of the hallway and into her large sitting area. The couch, chair, and coffee table were covered with books. She hadn't been lying about the research. She moved past him to clear off enough room for them to sit side-by-side, and he glanced at an open book on the table as he sat down, seeing an unpleasant image of a C section. He flinched slightly, and turned to focus on her, trying not to think about it. They could discuss her 'research' later.

He raised an eyebrow at her expectantly. The conversation was in her hands, after all.

"What I wanted to say before… was that a lot seems to have happened between you figuring out you had feelings for me and… _now_."

In other words _You've slept with and had relationships with other people, claiming to be in love, since figuring out you were in love with me_. It was a loaded question, and it wasn't even an actual question that she'd given him to work with.

He sucked in a deep breath.

"I told you once… that you can love multiple people at the same time. But, you always love one person the most—there's always someone you're meant to be with."

"And… you're saying that despite your relationships in that time, you were still in love with me."

"Yeah, Bones. That's what I'm saying."

She considered that for a moment.

"You asked Hannah to marry you."

He tried not to feel guilty for that, and it helped that she sounded only curious. Not even slightly accusing. She just wanted to _know_. She just needed an explanation, like he had expected she would. She was a scientist, after all, through and through.

She thrived on answers that made sense. Rationality was her best friend.

"And if she'd said yes… I'd probably be in the middle of trying to figure out how to cut off an engagement. Bones, I don't want you to think that… that I didn't have feelings for Hannah. Because I don't do that—I don't lie about those things, and I've certainly never manipulated women like that. _But_… I was looking for a way out. After things didn't work with you. And Hannah was the first thing I found. I guess it just… felt good, to have someone in my life, and to feel needed, and I latched onto it. I got attached, and I sort of fell in love. And because of that… I misinterpreted a lot of stuff and mistreated a lot of people in my life." He looked at her pointedly as he said it. He didn't want to start apologizing again, since she disapproved of that so strongly, but he also wanted it to be known that he was aware of what he had been doing, and he was sorry for it. She deserved to know that, at the least.

"You were… in love with me while you were with Hannah?" she asked. He could tell she was having a hard time wrapping her mind around it. He didn't blame her—he'd been horrible to her while he was with Hannah. Of course it would be hard to believe he'd still been head over heels for her while he was seeing the other woman. In all honesty, the more he had missed Bones, the more he had gotten serious with Hannah. Desperation did funny things to people.

"I didn't want to be," he said softly, trying not to grimace at the flash of pain that cut across her features. It vanished almost instantly, though, and she nodded in understanding. He didn't like this at all. Didn't like telling her things that hurt her. But she had told him things that had hurt him, and she had wanted this to be a fair thing. She wanted them both to accept what they had done, and he had to agree with her there. And it was hardly fair if he was saying he wanted her to be honest with him, if he was dying to unburden her, and then refusing to comply with her wishes. It was an odd sort of selfishness, wanting to feel more pain that someone else.

He didn't enjoy any aspect of that particular part of their situation.

"Which was why I asked her to marry me, I think. I wanted it to work so much that I was ignoring the truth. And that was that I could never get over you, no matter what. I mean… Bones, I don't think you realize just how much I missed you, during that time. I used to feel so guilty, thinking about how I wanted to spend an evening with you doing paperwork over going on a date with my girlfriend. And so… I took it out on you."

She was chewing on her lip again.

"I remember," she said shortly. "And… your explanation makes sense. I turned you down and… hurt you a great deal by doing so. I deserved the consequences that followed. I don't blame you for the way things went while you were with Hannah."

And there she went, breaking her own rules.

"It thought we weren't blaming ourselves?" he said, his voice half-serious, half-teasing.

She frowned, and then realization washed over her features. She cracked a nervous smile. "It's… a lot harder to do than it is to say."

"You aren't kidding," he agreed emphatically.

"But… that's because we feel so strongly about one another. I don't want to see you in pain."

"And I don't want to see you in pain, either," he finished, nodding.

They both fell silent. There didn't seem to be much else to say, which amazed him. He had been so sure there was more there. It had felt like he'd been living under the weight of the earth, with everything burdening him down. Now, to think he'd said all he could think of… was simply indescribable.

He reached over onto the cushion beside him to pick up an unopened book that was sitting there. It was about time they changed the subject. He felt lighter, now, and despite the late—or early, depending on how it was looked at—hour, he wasn't tired in the slightest. He felt energized.

"Baby names," he read, raising an eyebrow and flipping through, stopping on the pages that were dog-eared to scan through the names. None of them seemed like the kind Bones would have marked, though.

"Angela's," she reminded him, as though she could read his mind.

He nodded, remembering that she'd said that. "Did you… have a look at this yet, then?"

She shook her head. "No, I was more so looking into the technical aspect. It's early, of course, but… I'm displeased with being unprepared for anything, and I want to know… everything that I can. I find that I'm surprisingly uninformed on the topic."

"Hey, there's always something new to learn. I think you told me that, at some point."

"Probably."

"So, you haven't even glanced at this?" he continued, flipping a few more pages and crinkling his nose at a few names he would never consider. He felt sorry for the kids whose parents actually thought it was a good idea to call them these things. Like those celebrities who wanted to be unique. He'd never understand it.

"No," she said again, her lips twisting in that way that told him she wasn't sure if she had something else to say or not. He didn't get the chance to ask, though, because she started speaking again after only a moment. "I wanted to wait. Look over them… with you."

She blushed again as she said it, something he was starting to get used to enjoying. She was so beautiful, and he didn't have the heart to tell her she had nothing to be embarrassed about. It would probably only make her flush a deeper red if he mentioned it.

He beamed. "That was… that's great, Bones. I'm really… I'm really glad. Do you want to… take a look now, maybe?"

"It is still early," she reminded him, but a slight spark had lit up in her eyes, and he knew that she wanted to do this. It was strange, to think that they had only barely figured out their joint feelings, and here they were, going through baby books. Strange, but wonderful. This was what he had always wanted with her. He'd have to remember to tell her that, sometime. To tell her just how much he had always wanted to share these exact moments with her.

She was giving him everything he'd ever wanted, just by being _her_. He wondered if she would ever fully understand that. If she'd ever get the full extent of just how valuable she was, just how much she had impacted his life just by existing.

Probably not, but he could certainly try to make her see it. Every day, he vowed. From now until the end of time.

"Rose," he said, raising an eyebrow as they flipped past the page.

"I never liked the idea of naming children after flowers."

"Alright, how about…"

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

She blinked her eyes open in the glow of the morning light that had crept in through the gaps in her shades, and let out a low moan as she stretched. The space next to her in the bed was empty, and she frowned for a moment before she heard the shower running in the background. A contented smile spread across her face, and she slumped back onto the pillows, sighing.

It had been a long time since she had brought a man back to her place. A very long time.

Her home was hers, a sanctuary of sorts. Whenever possible, she had gone to her partner's place. There, it was so much easier. If she was unhappy with his company or did not wish to stay the night, she could leave and not risk the complications. It didn't work that way if he was the one in her bed, although on the few occasions where that had occurred she hadn't really faced much trouble in sending her company packing.

With Booth, things were completely different. She had wanted him at her place; it was a place that belonged to the both of them, anyways, and a place she felt completely comfortable with his arms around her. And it felt a bit like she had finally fulfilled something. Like she'd finally _succeeded_ at something in her life. All those years thinking about him, all that time wishing she could have the courage to do something about it, wishing she could trust herself to never hurt him, trust herself to _try_ for him… and now, here she was.

In an actual relationship with Seeley Booth.

The smile on her face only grew wider as she closed her eyes and breathed in his familiar scent from the sheets that surrounded her.

They belonged to each other, and they belonged together. She didn't care if it wasn't logical, didn't care if it wasn't _rational_. The laws of the universe were changing. Or at least, the ones that applied directly to her.

And for once, she didn't care how upside-down things became. Because they were finally working in her favor.

She lazily slid a hand up to rest her open palm on the warm skin of her abdomen. It didn't feel real, in many ways. None of it did, except when she thought of her time with Booth. When she thought of the moments they shared, and the electricity of their skin as it came into contact again and again.

That was real, without a doubt.

But the pregnancy… it still had her off-balance. There were the minute changes, like those she had mentioned to Booth, but there wasn't anything that truly shouted that she was pregnant. She wasn't showing, at all, yet. She didn't _feel_ much different, truly. But she knew that she was different now. That everything was different now.

The fears had subsided on that front. Booth was here, with her. He loved her, and he loved their unborn child. She no longer had to worry about the situation she might be bringing her child into, or the confusion that she might be faced with herself if she had been right about Booth's lack of interest in her.

Never had she been so glad to be wrong.

They had come up with a list of names, last night. Before they had wound up back in bed. Booth had been happy to just search out suitable girl ones, but she had insisted that they consider boy names as well. He might trust her gut, and she might be pretty sure of it, but science still told her she was being ridiculous. It was a fifty-fifty chance at either boy or girl. And she wasn't going to be unprepared for anything else in this pregnancy.

There would be no serious shopping until the sex of their child was confirmed, and she had tried to stress that to him. But at the mention of shopping, Booth's face had lit up in a way no man's face had ever lit up at the mention of the word. But she knew that it was because of the baby, and no other reason. He had missed out on a lot of that stuff with Parker, and he had told her that he was going to do everything with her. No matter how un-manly it was, or how ridiculous—she had no cravings yet, but he assured her that she would, and that they'd likely be weird—he had said he was in it all the way. Not because he felt some sort of duty… but because he loved this. Loved her, loved the fact she was pregnant, loved the idea of being a family.

And God, if she didn't love him more for every one of the sweet words that came out of his mouth.

The shower turned off, and a moment later he emerged into the bedroom wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. She couldn't help the predatory smile that immediately leapt onto her face.

"Good morning," he said, his voice smooth and warm. He was already awake; his voice lacked the gravelly, morning edge to it that she sometimes heard when he was still bleary-eyed at the office.

She merely raised an eyebrow, and he laughed, shaking his head.

"You have no idea how much I don't want to say this, Bones, but we _do_ have to go to work at some point."

She frowned. Right, work. It was fascinating how quickly her priorities could be rearranged. She was late to work almost never, and she abhorred it on the occasions when it was unavoidable. And yet, even now, thinking about how she needed to start her morning routine in order to arrive on time… she still felt no sense of urgency.

He saw that she was making no move to get up, and he chuckled shortly, coming around to her side of the bed to offer a quick kiss before he turned his attention to gathering up his clothing from the night before.

"You're going to go to work in the same clothes as yesterday?" she asked, shoving the sheets off of herself and turning to sit upright with her legs dangling off the side of the mattress.

"I thought we could stop off at my place on the way, so I could change."

"Unnecessary," she informed him, smiling smugly as she stood and moved to her dresser. She opened a drawer and extracted a clean shirt of his, holding it out to him.

"And how exactly did you get this?" he asked, laughing even as he accepted it.

"I have a few others as well," she said matter-of-factly.

He just shook his head, seeming to accept that she wasn't going to explain how she'd came into possession. He didn't ask about the other shirts, either, and she was grateful. She planned to keep them; some she'd had for years, and she didn't plan on parting with them.

Accepting that now that she was up it would be wise to be somewhat productive, she dug into her closet to find an outfit for the day. As she slid her hands through the materials, pushing aside hangers in her quest for a red blouse she was partial to, strong arms slid around and wrapped her in an embrace from behind. She laughed as he rested his chin down on her shoulder.

"Changing your mind now?"

"No, just enjoying myself."

She stepped away, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head to give him a warning look. "You weren't wrong before. I do need to get moving, even if I want to postpone the grilling I'm going to get from Angela."

"Hey, you got that one right."

She grinned. "Yes. I did. Now… are you going to join me in my shower, or make us breakfast."

He grimaced. "You kill me, Bones, you really do. Breakfast it is, but _only_ because we're in a hurry. I expect a rain check on that. Tomorrow morning?"

"I will be taking you up on that offer," she said firmly, raising her eyebrows suggestively before she turned and headed into the bathroom.

Being with Booth was fascinating. There were a million things that she found she'd been wanting to say for years. Things that had jumped to the tip of her tongue before she had swallowed them because they didn't fit on her side of the 'line.' There were thoughts that had crossed her mind so many times, and dreams that had taunted her during the waking hours that followed them.

Having it all now… it changed things.

And this was almost natural. They bounced off each other with their flirting, with their confident remarks, just as much as they had been doing for years in the workplace in relation to casework. In some ways, things hadn't changed much. They had just… gone up a few notches. They were still on the same playing field—it felt like they'd always been there, to be honest. Like they'd just been waiting to get to _this_ part.

As she stepped out of the shower, her thoughts went along a path that they had never taken before, though. Not with any man she'd ever been with. This was something that belonged. This was something that was _permanent_. And for the first time in her life, she was forced to hold herself back from diving in too quickly.

Because now, with all of this in front of her, and all the truths hanging there—reassuring her that he loved her, that this was right, that they belonged in each others arms and they were going to be a wonderful family together—she found herself planning. Thinking about a house, about whether or not she might want more than one child down the road, about the sort of neighborhood she would want to live in, and about all the things she wanted her child to have growing up.

She couldn't say all of that, though. They had only just confirmed their feelings for each other the day before, even though it felt like a lifetime ago. She had known, she realized now. She'd known all along that this was how it was supposed to be. That he loved her, and she loved him back just as much. And knowing it made her wonder how she could ever have doubted it. It just seemed like… reality. Her reality. But the point was that she couldn't just tell him she wanted them to live together, that she was excited at the prospect of house shopping.

How many men had she been with who had started moving too fast? None of them had ever worked out. And while she was sure of Booth in every way, she didn't want to overwhelm him. The pregnancy had already done that job very thoroughly, and there was no need to start throwing more at him.

Those things could wait. They would happen, and she was sure of it. But for now… they were for her to keep to herself. To consider, and dream.

The warm smell of eggs cooking hit her when she opened the door, and she smiled.

When this case was over, she wanted a vacation. With just her, and him, and unlimited possibilities stretching out in front of them.

And that… was something she _was_ going to mention to him.

**A/N: Ah, smooth sailing feels so good, doesn't it? A lot of heavy stuff out of the way. They do still have some things to work out, and there is some angst ahead... but I thought it would be nice to catch up with them and their relationship and take a quick break from the case details for a while. Plus I haven't had the pleasure of writing BxB as a couple in a very long time. **

**Feedback makes me write faster, so don't leave me wondering how well this chapter was received. Just hit the button and let me know! :D**

**PS: Has anyone else heard about the 13 episode season we're going to have? I feel better knowing it ahead of time, and I understand the reasoning what with Emily's pregnancy... but as a Bones addict, I can't help but feel rather saddened by the news. I just hope they can get together a fantastic set of episodes what with the story arc they have planned, so that it's action-packed and makes up for it. **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Well, hello everyone! I don't think it's possible to apologize enough for my ridiculous absence from this story. Long story short, things have been really busy lately, and I felt that it was better to take a break from this story than to fight with it and add more stress to my work load. Now, however, I've got free time on my hands. Over Thanksgiving break I got ahead by a few chapters, so I feel that it's only fair that I give all of you one of them now. Happy Holidays! **_  
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_Chapter 13_

_June 3__rd__, 2011_

"Good morning," Cam greeted them cheerfully, when they both came in the sliding doors together. She was smiling too widely, though, and as they stopped short in front of her, she nodded towards the platform, the smile still firmly on her face.

Booth saw the reason why at once. The platform was crowded with men and women in FBI jackets, and he recognized his boss and Culver among them, as well as Agents Shaw, Ohlsen, and Charlie Burns.

He put on a smile himself, nodding to Cam with a raised eyebrow, and then gently placed a hand on Brennan's back to nudge her forward, dropping it immediately afterwards. The team knew they were together, and he was glad of the fact. But right now, the focus—with so many of his coworkers around—was on the case. Not on his personal life. And they wouldn't be able to ignore that aspect if he made it so obvious.

She didn't seem offended at all, though, keeping pace with him. He watched her as she surveyed the platform, taking in the faces that she found there. He could see her recognition of a few of them, but he doubted she knew half of their names.

"Agent Booth," Hacker greeted him when they had come up the stairs, offering a nod for Brennan as well. It was clear they hadn't talked in a while, and even more clear that Hacker was more perceptive than someone might at first believe upon meeting. He looked the part of a loveable buffoon—slightly pompous, but slightly clumsy and self-deprecating as well. But he was by no means an idiot. He glanced between the two of them for a long moment before he spoke again, and Booth could read it in his eyes that there were questions. Questions he would want answered later on, when he would no doubt call Booth to his office.

Nobody else seemed to notice a thing.

"After reviewing the evidence on this case, we have decided that joining the homicide and narcotics divisions headed by yourself and Agent Culver will be the most effective way to handle the rest of this investigation. Culver will be taking lead."

Booth opened his mouth to protest but then shut it again with a snap, nodding sharply and feeling a wave of frustration go through him as he clenched his jaw. Brennan touched his arm, and he shot her a quick look of reassurance before returning his focus to his boss.

The other agents were splitting off, now, some of them departing and others grouping together to speak in hushed tones, and Hacker and Culver stepped forward with Agent Shaw to speak with him and Brennan more privately.

"It's clear that we aren't going to get anywhere with interviews and confrontation," Culver began, taking charge of the discussion. "So we've decided to send someone in undercover, to get the lay of the land and put a few names to faces while figuring out just how the shipments arrive, who knows about them, and who coordinates all the movements of the players involved."

Brennan was stiff beside him, and he could feel the tension radiating off of her even as she shifted her position so there was a gap between them and he no longer felt her shoulder brushing against his arm. When he glanced towards her, she wouldn't meet his eyes, even though he knew she could tell that he was trying to get her attention.

"Who?" Booth inquired.

"Agent Shaw has volunteered," Hacker informed them, looking quite proud and clapping a hand on the young agent's shoulder. Shaw smiled tightly, and Culver looked just plain disapproving.

"There is still the option of bringing in one of my team members," he said, and it was clear they had already had this discussion, several times, before Booth and Brennan had arrived.

"Nonsense. Shaw is well-trained, and she spent a lot of time studying in narcotics before changing her mind. Besides, you said yourself that this is one of the most sophisticated rings you've come across in a long time. They'll be looking for all the traditional makings of a rat. Shaw here is young and able; she can pull off a college student desperate for a job better than someone whose been doing this a long time."

Culver opened his mouth, a frown still set firmly between his eyebrows, but Hacker raised a hand to cut him off.

"We'll work out all the details later. For now, let's get these two up to speed!"

They spent the next twenty minutes going over a general synopsis of the investigation; comparing theories and going in depth on each other's notes and the possible suspect lists they had generated. He wished desperately for them to leave him alone with the team so he could pull Brennan aside and ask her what was wrong, but every time they drew towards a point of closure, Hacker brought up something else.

When the meeting finally came to a close and Hacker had finished finalizing plans for a follow-up later the same day, it took longer than Booth liked for everyone to fully clear out. And until they were all gone, he couldn't justify sweeping Brennan away and locking them in her office with the blinds drawn. Not without drawing a lot of unwanted attention.

Still, he didn't wait long at all after the last of the agents had disappeared and the background of lab noise reached them as the regular bustle of the atmosphere returned.

He placed a hand on her arm and pulled gently, tugging her towards her office. She complied, not looking at him, and when they were safely inside it was she who pulled the blinds and sealed them in the darkness. A moment later her desk lamp clicked on and illuminated the space, and she stood there in front of her desk, regarding him from under her bangs.

"Are you okay?" he asked falteringly.

"Fine," she answered at once, and there was honesty in her voice. But there was deception as well, and he narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms until she shifted her gaze away, a sigh escaping her lips. She said nothing, though, and he stepped forward enough that he drew a quick glance in his direction.

"You're not fine," he stated softly, reaching out a hand and turning her chin to face him. Eyes wide, she stared at him for a long moment, and then she nodded her head in reluctant agreement and pulled herself away from his touch before moving to sit lightly on the edge of a couch cushion. He followed like a shadow, settling down beside her and mirroring her position.

"Would you have gone?" she asked at last, and he frowned.

"Gone where?"

She huffed out a breath of air sharply, as though he were being ridiculous. "Undercover. Would you have… gone undercover?"

He frowned in consternation, leaning back and taking her in. She was stiff, her arms folding down onto her lap and her jaw set tightly. A muscle ticked in her neck. He saw her swallow, and it occurred to him that she was _angry_. So angry, she might even be fighting back tears. He was appalled.

"Bones, I… if they had _asked_ me…"

"And if I had said no?" she demanded, cutting him off. Her eyes flashed, and they were dark and serious. Unwavering.

"You don't want me working undercover."

"No. I don't."

He stammered a moment. "Why?" he finally managed, unable to come up with any other suitable response.

She stared at him a long moment, conflicted and confused, and then finally she whispered, "I'll _die,_ if I lose you."

All the breath vanished from his lungs in that moment, and he opened his mouth but found it dry and incapable of speech. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he just shook his head. He was about to reach out to pull her into his arms, but she dove into them without prompting, burying her head in his shoulder.

"I'm not leaving you, Bones," he finally managed to say, clutching her tightly to him and feeling the way she fit perfectly into his side, her arms thrown around him and they're breathing in sync even as they both struggled to keep their voices straight. "Not ever."

"I know," she mumbled into him. "But that doesn't mean… that doesn't mean things don't _happen_. We… we can't know how long this is going to… how long this will last."

"Bones, don't talk like that, okay? You and me… we're going to be around for a good long time. And we're going to raise this baby, together, and we… we're gonna be a family. Nothing is going to change that; I won't let it."

"Do you remember what I said to you?" she said at last, pulling away so she could meet his gaze. Her eyes were swirling with more emotions than he thought he'd ever seen in them before.

"When?"

"In the airport… before we both left."

He shook his head slowly, trying to remember a specific part of the conversation so he could figure out what she was referring to.

She looked down for a long time, and then she lifted her eyes again and began softly. "I asked you not to be a hero. And I _know_… I know that it's in your nature. But I just… I need you to be careful. For me."

He nodded, knowing exactly how she felt. "Compromise, then. I won't throw myself in the line of fire to be a hero… and you won't run off to foreign countries with questionable politics because of some new find."

She scowled at that, looking like she wanted to retort.

"Not without me," he specified. She couldn't give up her field, nor could she erase the innate need she possessed to be involved with the latest information science was providing. If she was going to go… she was going to have him by her side.

"That is a… reasonable compromise," she agreed thoughtfully. "And what about our child?"

"That was my other point. No seven month trips. Never again, okay?"

For a moment, a flicker of sadness crossed her face. But then it vanished and she nodded definitively. "I can do that."

He smiled in relief. "Good. Now, what do you say you and I go and get ourselves something to eat at the Diner?"

A grin spread immediately across her face. "That would be… very nice. I find that I'm rather hungry. I'm thinking I'd like some cheese fries and a tapioca pudding."

He raised an eyebrow, but she was already standing up and moving around her office, so he held his tongue and decided not to mention what an interesting combination that was. Especially when it was coming from her.

"Are you coming?" she asked, and he realized she was standing by the door, watching him with a frown on her face.

"Yeah, sorry," he said quickly, joining her. Without a word, they stepped over the threshold and linked their hands together, both feeling the rush of exhilaration that came with the moment. He did not feel any fear, any concern, when Angela waved to them from the platform and the others looked over and saw them. Instead, he felt a rush of pride. They were really doing this. The two of them were together, and they didn't have to keep it from anyone. It was better than he'd ever imagined it could be. If only they didn't have this case weighing on their minds.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"You ready for this?" Booth asked, glancing to his right at the other agent. She was so young, so new to his team. Even with her eagerness earlier, he could see the nervousness rushing through her in this moment before the plunge.

"Of course," Shaw answered, nodding briskly. Her eyes were wider than they should have been, though, and she kept darting them around, taking in every movement outside of the SUV.

"Just because Hacker said—"

"I'm fine," she interrupted him firmly, and he shut up.

The radio crackled.

"All set, Agents."

Shaw shot him one last look, nodded abruptly, and then she was out the door and heading across the parking lot. And all the while, Booth was questioning whether or not he should have spoken up to Hacker, made sure someone with more experience was going in on this mission. He liked her; she was bright and smart and a great asset to his team. But she was still green. Still learning. And he wasn't prepared to deal with the aftermath if something went wrong on this mission.

He remembered Brennan's words. How she had been so determined that he not be the one going on this mission. It reminded him of what she had said to him in the aftermath of Nigel-Murray's death. She had felt terrible, not just because of the loss, but because she was glad. Glad that it had not been him. Booth was no stranger to that feeling. He was feeling it now, watching as Genny Shaw conversing at the doorway to the club, leaning casually on the wall and nodding her head to whatever the other woman was saying. The street lights highlighted her face as she turned back in his direction for a moment.

There was a time when Brennan would have been the one volunteering herself for this mission. It was just the sort of thing she would do, after all. She was a fairly good actress, when the need arose. In this moment, watching Shaw, he was grateful that Brennan was safe and sound. That she was not in the line of fire, as she had already been far too many times for his liking. No, this time she was staying back. Protecting herself, protecting their child.

He wished that relief would go away, though. Because Shaw was in very real danger, and if she didn't survive this mission, if they didn't pull this off properly, if he failed her… he wasn't sure he could handle the weight that the guilt would place on him.

Booth's family was Brennan, and it was the squints and Pops and Parker. But it was also the FBI, and his team. They needed his head in the game.

He cleared his throat and spoke into his radio, calling in his badge number and announcing the successful plant.

Hacker called him back to the Hoover, and he reluctantly turned the key and pulled away.

He had a bad feeling about this entire operation.

When he returned to the office, Hacker and the others were gathered around in the bullpen, where a makeshift control center had been set up surrounding a few empty cubicles on the end of a row. Computer monitors lined up in an arc, and he joined his fellow agents, his arms crossed as he glanced through them. One was tapped into a surveillance camera in the parking lot, showing a grainy black and white image of the door to the club. Two of the others were mostly still, but occasionally bobbed up and down. The undercover agents who were observing from the bar had been planted earlier in the evening. Shaw's camera was front and center, and he could see that right now she was speaking to a greasy haired man, who was smiling in an unsettling way, nodding his head.

Hacker was wearing a pair of headphones, as were two other agents seated at desks, focused intently on their laptops.

"How are we looking?" Booth asked.

"She's got a good rapport going with this guy," Charlie said, nodding towards the screen. Booth hadn't even realized his friend had come up beside him. "He looks like he might be the manager, at least from the conversation I was hearing."

"He's going for the bait," Hacker announced, lifting his gaze to sweep across his agents, landing on Booth for a fraction of a second longer than the others. They shared a nod.

A brief chorus of success murmured through them, but there was no outright celebration. This was a small step in a long journey. A good start, of course. But it didn't mean this was going to be easy. Not at all.

"Dr. Sweets?" Hacker said sharply, and the young man bobbed up suddenly, like a buoy in the sea of faces.

"Here, sir."

Hacker gestured for him to come closer, and Booth moved in as well, leaving Charlie on the outer edges. His boss looked up when he joined the small inner circle, but said nothing to indicate that he didn't belong. His focus returned to the psychologist.

"Are you ready?"

"Of course. As soon as the call comes in."

"What?" Booth said, his confusion taking over and getting the better of him. He had no idea what they were talking about, and he didn't like it. His skin crawled slightly, the feeling of foreboding from earlier returning in a rush.

"Dr. Sweets has agreed to pick up Agent Shaw, posing as her boyfriend in this situation."

Booth frowned, more annoyed about being left out of the loop than anything else. "Is this a new part of the plan?"

"As of the past few hours, yes," Hacker answered simply. Booth cut his eyes towards the younger man, surprised to see the eagerness in his expression. He'd had no idea that Sweets was so interested in field work, and certainly not in being involved in an undercover operation. He had always seen him work best behind the scenes, not out in the line of fire.

"Alright, she's making the call," Ohlsen said, pulling a headphone away from his ear and finding Hacker's face in the crowd. The boss nodded, turning his attention back to Sweets with a raised eyebrow. Sweets took a steadying breath, a nervous smile on his lips despite himself.

He almost jumped when his phone went off in his pocket. It wasn't his usual one, Booth noted, when he pulled it out. It was a new one, and the ringtone was standard rather than a theme song. He remembered that at one point it had had something to do with Saved By the Bell. That had been a while ago, though. Back when he had been dating Daisy.

Was he still dating her? Booth realized he didn't even know, and he made a mental note to find out at their next session. He found himself interested, annoyingly enough, but he reassured himself that it would make a good distraction point from Sweets questions about his and Bones' relationship. That was all. A good way to change the subject and save them from whatever God-awful questions the shrink had in mind.

"Lance," he said, pressing the phone to his ear.

Booth heard her saying something, but not the exact words. Glancing over at the screen, he could see that Shaw was still in the same back room, but she was turned away from the man, now. She paced a few steps, the camera scanning across the paintings that covered the wall as she spoke.

"Alright, be there in a few," Sweets said. "Good work."

Another, shorter response, and then the call cut off and Sweets shoved the phone back in his pocket. He cleared his throat, and flushed a light pink, glancing quickly over towards the monitors and then averting his eyes. Booth followed his line of sight, and saw the agents with their headsets still on wagging their eyebrows and grinning in his direction.

"Wait a few minutes before you start driving," Hacker directed. "We don't know how advanced they are, but we don't want them having any idea how far away you are actually coming from. And don't return directly here unless you're sure you're not being followed."

"I'll detour," Sweets promised, perking up again and returning to his typical pale-faced self.

Hacker tossed him a set of keys, and he jogged lightly off towards the elevator.

"Go _slow!"_ Hacker called out, shaking his head. But there was an amused smile on his face that Booth managed to catch before it disappeared.

"Two inexperienced players in the game?" Booth said lowly, turning to face towards the monitors and crossing his arms. He didn't look at Hacker when he said it, but his boss knew who he was talking to.

"Two people who look the part," Hacker corrected smoothly. "Shaw knows what she's doing, and this is her chance to prove herself. She's earned it. And Dr. Sweets… well, he was eager. And all he has to do is play the part of the lover boy patsy. Shouldn't be too hard. He's never even going to step inside that club."

Booth nodded, agreeing with what he was hearing but still not feeling quite satisfied. For the first time, he spotted Culver in the office. He was off to the side, leaned against the wall and observing in silence. He didn't look very approving, either, but he wasn't interfering.

"Why don't you go home, Booth? Go be with your girlfriend; get some rest. We've got a lot of work to do on this case, starting tomorrow."

Booth looked up sharply at the mention of 'his girlfriend,' but Hacker was no longer focused on him, and had begun speaking to another agent nearby about getting satellite imagery of the target clubs.

If there was a storm coming, it wasn't happening just yet.

So he turned and walked away, accepting that as a suitable dismissal, and moved to his office to gather his belongings.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Brennan was in his apartment when he came in, and he stopped short in the doorway, surprise drawing him to a halt.

"Hi," he said, moving forward so he could shut the door behind him. His keys jingled as he tossed them onto the table and moved to shed his coat.

"Hi," she echoed.

He wondered how long she'd been here, just waiting. Because clearly that was what she was doing; waiting for him. And there was a look on her face that said she was mulling over something, and had been for a while now.

Setting himself down beside her on the couch, he leaned back and allowed himself a satisfied sigh. It had been a long day, and he was glad to find her here, even if her motives were unclear. Calling her would have been the first thing on his agenda, to see what the arrangements were for the night, and he was glad to have that resolved. Glad to be with her sooner than he'd thought.

He slid an arm up and over the back of the couch so it rested just above her shoulders, and she turned towards him naturally, drawing her legs up onto the couch so they curled under her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked curiously, leaning forward to offer her a quick, tender kiss.

She regarded him for a moment, a crease between her eyebrows. "I've been thinking," she said at last, and he smiled despite himself. That was a dangerous sentence, if there ever was one. "What's funny?" she questioned, her frown deepening and her confusion taking precedence.

"Nothing, sorry. What have you been thinking about?"

Her frown did not go away, and she was slow to respond. "This back and forth between our apartments… we can't keep it up forever. And I was thinking… I have been for a while, but I wasn't sure if I should bring it up… about what we should do about our living arrangement."

"What prompted this?" he asked tentatively, curiosity getting the better of him. He was amazed that she was the one to bring it up and not him, and a wave of pride was surging through him, but he wanted to know if there was something else going on here, or if she was simply being practical.

She shook her head. "After today… I just found that I did not like the prospect of being without you. And… I want to be able to come home to… be with you, and with our child. I don't want anything getting in the way."

He knew she was referring to their discussion about how dangerous his job could be, and he knew that there was a deeper fear, there, but for now he could accept her reasoning. In fact, he rather loved her reasoning.

"I agree," he murmured, not even bothering to resist the urge to kiss her again.

She was the one to pull back, blinking up at him in characteristic surprise. "You do?"

"Of course," he said, chuckling softly. Only Bones would doubt something like that. "I've been thinking about it, too. And… I want a place for _us_."

A wide smile broke out across her face, her eyes shining with relief and the unmistakable glimmer of love. It felt good to recognize it for what it was. To no longer question its worth or the reality of its presence. It was there.

"I love you," he said.

She responded by recapturing his lips with hers, and a moment later he found himself pinned to the couch, with her hovering over him, a primal smile curling on her lips. "I love you, too," she answered, just before she began systematically unbuttoning his dress shirt.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Shaw pecked him lightly on the cheek after she had climbed into the passenger seat of the corolla. "Drive," she said, yanking the door shut behind her and pulling on her seat belt. She glanced back towards the door to the club, which was open. The manager's shoulders were silhouetted in the neon light from the sign. Watching her—them.

"How'd it go?" he asked, glancing at her every five seconds between focusing on the road.

"Fine," she answered simply. He was only looking at her now, and she resisted the urge to grab the wheel. "It's raining," she stated, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Oh. Yeah." His focus returned to the road for a second, to acknowledge the truth of her words. But then it was back on her.

"Dr. Sweets, would you please watch the road?" she asked at last, tired and worn down. She leaned her head back into the headrest and closed her eyes, breathing out a slow sigh.

He turned away, and it was a long few seconds before he cleared his throat. "Sorry."

She shrugged.

All she wanted to do right now was get back to the apartment that Hacker had gotten set up for this mission. Her cover home, and her cover life. It wasn't as if she hadn't known what she was signing up for. She had been well aware of the implications. Still, she couldn't help but look back at the decision with fresh questions on her mind. There were things she had not taken into account. Things she couldn't have possibly anticipated. Like the desire to take a shower that had immediately swamped over her when she stepped into the club for the first time. The place itself was spotless. But she could feel the filth permeating into her skin.

The place was disgusting. The manager… he was disgusting, although she had pegged him as a harmless buffoon. A pawn in the grand scheme of things. A disgusting one, though, for certain.

"You're going the wrong way," she stated, barely opening her eyes.

"Uh… yeah." Sweets cleared his throat again. "Hacker wants us to detour around a little, and then head back to the office to debrief for the night."

She only just managed to suppress her sigh of distaste. Her shower would have to wait, as would that much needed sleep.

"So… when do you start work?" he asked, when she didn't respond to his explanation.

"Three days," she answered, finally opening her eyes and letting her attention stray out the windows. The rain was coming down harder, now. Three days wasn't much, but she could tell it was going to be an eternity of sitting around. Waiting for things that could not be put into motion until she was back in that club.

He nodded thoughtfully.

"Did you want to… get something to eat? On our way back?"

She shook her head, her mind elsewhere—going over what she should expect after these three days were up. She was to be a server at Blue Fish. She needed to be in the right mindset. She was a college grad trying to pay her bills after failing to find work with her liberal arts degree. She had been dating Lance for a few months, and they had just gotten a new apartment with what little finances they shared between them. Her parents weren't in the picture, and she was an only child. She was not opposed to drugs, not religious, and she had a strong dislike towards the law. She was practically an alcoholic, although in denial about it. She had not worked in a club before, but her desperation for work made her an easy target; one that would not gain much attention and one that would do what she was told. When asked what experience she possessed, she explained that she had worked as a waitress for three years during college.

And the real Genny Shaw had, in fact. She knew what she was doing.

She did not catch the look of distinct disappointment on the psychologist's face.

"Alright," he said. "So… we'll just loop around a few times."

She shrugged, not really caring what he wanted to do so long as eventually she got back to the Hoover, through that meeting, and into a warm shower.

He cleared his throat. For the third time.

"Do you mind if I get something at a drive-through?"

"Go for it."

She didn't know him very well. He was generally quiet and focused, and she knew he was very strongly attached to Agent Booth and Doctor Brennan. From the talk she heard around the office, they had been working with each other for years now.

There was word—which was really more of a rumor—that something had changed between the agent and the anthropologist. Shaw had to say she agreed with it, too, from what she had seen in her limited interactions with the two of them. And even without seeing them together, she would have wagered a guess that there was something different. She saw Agent Booth on a far more frequent basis than Doctor Brennan, and from watching him alone she could see that he wasn't the same man he had been several months ago when she had first begun to work with him. There was a look in his eyes that hadn't been there before: a warm sparkle.

Sweets could see it too. Maybe he was even privy to information that had not yet leaked to the public and to Hacker. If that was the case, though, he wasn't giving it away. There was a surprising loyalty there; one that she admired. These people, all of them, not just Booth and Brennan, were bonded in some way that she couldn't quite yet begin to describe. They hadn't something, though. Something special.

She wasn't paying attention when Sweets stopped the vehicle, and she glanced up to find a large menu board just before she heard the familiar crackle and the "What can we get you?"

He glanced towards her, but she had already averted her eyes, leaning her head back and staring up. His head turned away again, and he poked it partially out the window. Like a turtle, she thought absently. A nervous, geeky sort of turtle. But he was cute, in his own way. And he was brilliant, she knew. She had read a few of his papers for research when she was first assigned to the DC branch of the FBI.

Still. Not her type.

Now, despite his age, if Booth wasn't so obviously taken…

"Could I get the number two?" Sweets said.

A pause, and then "Pull forward."

His head popped back inside and he shifted the vehicle and jerked them forward.

"Sure you, uh, don't want anything?"

She resisted the urge to say that it was a little late for that. "No, I'm good."

They waited in silence for a minute or so before a woman with out of control frizzy hair puffing out from under her standard-employee baseball cap leaned out the window to take his money and pass him his grease-stained bag of take-out.

He found them a parking lot and pulled into an empty space under a street lamp, loudly opening the crinkly bag and extracting a hamburger and a container overflowing with fries.

She had to admit, it did smell good. But she still wasn't hungry, her stomach knotted from the disgust she still felt for the club at which she would be working and the man who ran it. She didn't think she'd be eating at all tonight. An extra-long shower and some much-needed sleep—that was what she needed. Food could wait until tomorrow, or at least until she got back to the apartment.

Sweets turned on the radio and motioned for her to change the station as she pleased while he took another large bite of his burger. She didn't hesitate to reach forward and start fiddling with the dials, looking for something decent that would distract her and perhaps keep the conversation to a minimum.

Normally, she wouldn't mind the small-talk. She liked people, in general. Her parents had always proudly proclaimed that she was a people-person, and she hadn't understood what they meant for years, until she was older and already well aware of who she was. Genny Shaw hadn't grown up in the best part of town, and she been forced to work hard for the things she wanted, but she was very self-aware. She knew what she wanted. She knew how to get it. And she knew that there were things she couldn't live with.

She had fears about this job. Fears about what it could do to her, and they had nothing to do with getting shot, although that was always a very grounding reality. No, she was afraid of who this job could turn her into. The first time she had ever shot anyone had been on her first assignment with the narcotics division. He had lived; she had never _killed _anyone—not yet—and her concerns about the future of that statistic made up the basis of her fears.

After that incident, she had been sent to mandatory therapy to get cleared for a return to the field. For the most part, she had been okay with it. The man had been about to shoot her partner, after all, and he was a member of a drug cartel. He had deserved that bullet to the leg. What she had seen in the waiting room had been the worst part of the whole experience, really.

Her shrink was nothing like Sweets. He was an older man, with graying hair and a thick mustache. He asked her how she felt about the incident, about how she was coping, about her fears, and she had been honest about everything that pertained to the incident. And at the end of that meeting he had nodded and muttered to himself, making marks on her forms. Then he had handed them back to her and told her to come back again in a week.

It was infuriating, really, and the other agents had grinned and elbowed each other when she had said who it was she had been assigned to go see. They knew him, and his reputation. And it was clear she had been unlucky.

There was nothing wrong with her, and there still wasn't. Not yet.

The other patients, however, were a different case entirely. She saw ghosts in their eyes and on their pale faces. One young agent, a woman not much older than herself, had sat stiffly with her hands trembling on the armrests. She didn't meet anyone's eyes. An older agent, clearly on the verge of retirement, always came out with his head bowed and his eyes darting out under bushy eyebrows, surveying each member of the room and determining whether or not they were a viable threat.

She held out hope when she saw agents like Booth, though. He was still strong and still good at his job. He still smiled, still cracked jokes, and still took out bad guys like a pro. There was still hope that she had not chosen the wrong career.

When this mission was over, she would be in good standing for her future, heading towards her goal of Special Agent status.

Yes, she was going to make it, she thought firmly.

She glanced again over at Sweets and his delicious-smelling French fries. _Oh, what the hell?_ she thought, and then she reached over and picked one out of the container and popped it into her mouth.

**Share your thoughts? And please, no spoilers on the current season! In addition to being behind on my writing, I am behind on my watching. I will be catching up soon on both, though; no worries!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry for the delay on this one, guys. I clearly need to get back into the routine of updating once a week!**_  
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_Chapter 14_

_June 17__th__, 2011_

"Hey, Sweets," Brennan said cheerfully as she and Booth stepped through his office door and dropped into their usual seats on the couch.

He glanced up and then at his clock, his eyebrows rising towards his hairline. "You're… early."

"Figured we'd get it out of the way," Booth said with a shrug, looking over to grin at her. She returned the look before focusing her attention back on their psychologist. The case was going slow, and with all of their efforts focused on it, there hadn't been much to do at work recently besides wait. It gave them the chance to spend a lot more time together, without worrying so much about facing any sort of action or danger in the later hours. Shaw and Sweets were the ones close to the front lines this time around. They were here now more with the intent to check up on him than to have him analyze them. But Booth had specified that they should try to keep that to themselves.

"Well… alright then," Sweets said, shuffling through papers on his desk and closing the file he had been reading. He got to his feet, stumbling a little as he tried to hurry around his desk. Finally, he had himself settled into his usual chair, though, and he crossed his legs and laced his fingers together, observing them for a moment.

Brennan kept her focus on him, even as she felt her eyes fighting with her. Trying to look towards Booth and gauge his expression. They were doing well. Better than she had been expecting, really. It was amazing, and wonderful, and she desperately wanted it to never end.

Another reason they were here early was because they had an appointment to look at a house an hour from now. She found herself nervously anticipating it, and imagining what it would be like to settle into a real home with him. Maybe it would make it more real, more solid and tangible. She hoped so, but at the same time she hoped not. This, right now, was like living in a dream. It was, and she hated to even admit it to herself for the sheer unreality of it, magical.

"Tell me, has anything changed in your relationship since the last time we met?"

It was a weekly thing, of course. Sweets wouldn't have it any other way, and they had been forced to agree to this terms because there was simply no way out. Hacker was in on the details now, and was surprisingly supportive, offering his congratulations and only lightly mentioning the ramifications the changes might have on their working relationship. Sweets had smoothed out everything, though, and they really couldn't help but be grateful.

"Not too much," Booth said, speaking for the both of them. "We're looking at houses, but you already knew we were planning on that."

"Have you actually seen any places yet?" Sweets asked, leaning forward with a glint in his eyes. Like a switch flicking off, his shrink mode was replaced by his personal investment in their relationship.

"Not quite yet, but we've got a couple that we've made plans to visit."

He seemed to have realized himself, because he straightened up and nodded with a more professional dignity to his manner. "That's good; I'm glad to see you making progress. And how is… everything else?" He looked between them, his gaze straying down towards the small bump visible through her blouse. Pretty soon, it would be obvious to anyone that looked at her.

"According to the pregnancy calendar that Angela helped me set up, the baby has reached an approximate size of eight millimeters at this point."

"Today's info says that the bones have started forming," Booth tossed in, grinning and nudging her side. "Our little Bones' bones…"

She rolled her eyes, but there was laugher in her eyes. "Tomorrow," she corrected, "But that's not a guarantee. Just a rough estimate of a time line."

Sweets cleared his throat tentatively, drawing both of their attention's back to him. "Sorry. As much as I love to hear it, I just… we have other things to discuss."

"Oh, right," Booth said, nodding and turning himself on the couch so he could cross his arms and face the doctor more directly. He raised his hand towards him to show him he was free to continue with their session.

"Alright. So. I have a couple of questions that will assess how you each feel personally about the differences your current relationship has from the partnership you were previously solely invested in. Some of them are personal, while others are entirely about professionalism…" he was extracting two packets from a folder, and Booth met her eyes with an alarmed look, his eyebrows crinkled together.

"Is this like… the survey we took when we first started coming here?" she asked, scanning through the questions when he held out one of the packets for her to take. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. It was long.

"Similar, yes. You might even recognize some of the questions. And don't worry; all of your answers will remain confidential and will not be shared with anyone. Including each other."

Booth immediately let his slap down on the table in front of him. "We're not filling this out," he said firmly, his tone a level of serious that said he wasn't prepared to take no for an answer.

Sweets sort of smiled, a nervous twist to his lips as he assessed the situation, first focusing on Booth and then turning to her when it was clear that Booth's face was not about to change. She didn't give anything away, her face a blank mask and the papers sitting limply on her lap. She had stopped looking through them when Booth had dropped his. She had to agree that the idea was simply ludicrous. It was a waste of time, and it wasn't going to help any of them in any way. She wasn't about to be analyzed for another paper, if that's what this was.

"I just thought…"

Both of them shook their heads, and he slumped back in his seat.

"Fine. Fine, just go, then. I'll see you next week, if that's what you want. Or, you know, not at all… it's not like you don't have Hacker wrapped around your fingers or anything…"

Booth looked like he was almost going to do as the shrink had suggested, but he, like Brennan, stayed seated. Irritation was replaced with concern.

"Everything okay, there, Sweets?" Booth questioned.

The psychologist lifted his hand up from where it had landed over his eyes, and peered through his fingers at them. "Oh yeah. It's great."

Booth cut his eyes at her, and they shared a concerned look. "Are you feeling an extra level of stress recently?" she managed to ask after a moment.

That earned a slight smile. "You could say that."

She put down her survey as Booth continued with the questions. "Well, do you want to… talk about it?" They were the only people, she thought to herself, that this could happen with. The counseled becoming the counselors in mid-session.

Sweets hesitated for a long moment, seeming to think through his options. They waited patiently.

"I've been spending a lot of time with… Agent Shaw, recently."

"Oh," Booth said, falling back into his seat heavily. She frowned, not following.

"What?"

Booth started speaking again, before her question could be answered.

"How's that going for you?"

"Well… I thought it was working out. But… I don't really know what I'm doing."

"What—?"

"Have you told her how you feel, then?"

"No," Sweets said heavily. "I think she'd laugh…"

"Are you interested in a sexual relationship with Agent Shaw?" Brennan asked, frowning as she tried to work through her confusion.

Sweets dropped his head into his hands and Booth barked out a sharp laugh, muttering a quick "yes, he is" to her and trying to hide his grin as Sweets groaned something inaudibly into his hands.

"Tell you what, Sweets," Booth said, reaching forward to pick up both copies of the survey and handing hers back to her. "We'll fill out these things and get them back to you. Have a good week." He stood up, and she followed suit, letting him guide her towards the door with a hand rested gently on the small of her back.

"I think I might have embarrassed him," Brennan murmured as they rounded the corner and headed for Booth's office. They still had some time before it was reasonable to leave for their appointment with the realtor.

"Yeah, I think so," Booth agreed, smirking.

He sat on the edge of his desk and she hovered behind his guest chair, resting the tips of her fingers on it lightly. "We should be getting the blood work results back shortly," she said quietly, after a moment.

They weren't worried in the way Angela and Hodgins had been; they had run through the possibilities for the most common issues, and had found that the odds were very slim that their child would have any major problems. The odds were in their favor. Yet, she was apprehensive. As with everything that had to do with the pregnancy, she felt like she was wandering through an unfamiliar place in the dark. No matter how much research, how much preparation, she and Booth went through… she always felt like she should be doing more. Like there was something they weren't taking account of.

And she was always afraid that something was going to go wrong. Because she couldn't possibly be this happy. Something had to go wrong, because something always did. With her, at least.

He nodded in response. "Yeah, that will be good. One less thing, right?"

"Right."

"You think we should be… you know, looking more seriously at names?"

"I… I don't know. Maybe. But we've got time. We've got a lot of time."

He nodded. "Yeah. We'll just focus on getting a place. Our place. And then we can go through some more baby books. When it's closer. And… after we find out if it's a boy or a girl."

She smiled, now, almost laughing. "Our baby is going to be a girl, Booth."

He stood and came over to pull her into him, his eyes smoldering as they focused intently on her before he gently caressed her lips with his own. "So you've said," he murmured lovingly, running his fingers through her hair before he unwillingly pulled himself away. "We should probably get moving."

She breathed out a sigh, feeling a shiver run down her spine as their skin lost contact. "Yes, probably…"

The house was nice. It was something they both had to agree on. It was two stories, with a front porch and a spacious yard. The place was open and attractive, with tall ceilings and glimmering lights and shiny hardwood flooring. The windows were large and the rooms well-lit. She liked the kitchen, and he liked the family room. They both liked the bedroom.

For some reason that neither of them could define, though, they both promised to 'think about it,' when Theresa, their real estate agent, clapped her hands together and looked at them expectantly at the end of the tour.

"What did you think?" Booth asked her over a cup of coffee as they sat across from each other in their customary booth at the Royal Diner.

She shrugged, stealing a forkful of his apple pie. "I don't know. It was nice."

"Yeah it was. Nice. Like my pie…" he pulled his dish away, curling an arm protectively around it and raising an eyebrow at her.

"It's good," she commented, eyeing it again while still chewing thoughtfully on the first bite.

"Says the woman who hates her fruit cooked…"

She shrugged again, as though that were a meaningless fact. "It smelled good."

"This pregnancy is going to kill me…" he muttered. "What else, though? About the house?"

She considered his question. "I don't think I want to buy it."

"Me either," he said, smiling in relief. "I think it was just… too perfect."

"Yes," she agreed heavily, glad to finally have a definition for her distaste. "And it didn't feel right. I thought that… when we found someplace for ourselves, I would belong there. But I don't know if that was silly, or—"

"No, no, that makes perfect sense," he assured her. He chuckled. "I felt the same way, to be honest. And that place wasn't meant to be ours."

"No, it wasn't. So what do we do now?"

"There are a few others that we're going to look at, remember? Maybe we'll have better luck with them. And besides, things like this take time. I wasn't expecting it to work out on the first shot. This could take months, if necessary."

She nodded. "If that's what it takes, then that's what we'll do. I don't want to spend our daughter's childhood moving around too much because we aren't happy with what we have."

"Good. We're going to find something, Bones. Don't worry. Before you know it… we'll be living in the place of our dreams. And it will be _ours_."

They sat in silence for a moment, and then she suddenly said, lifting her head and setting her fork down, "I want a garden, I think."

He raised his gaze to meet hers, smiling in gentle amusement, his eyes soft and filled with a sort of fascination. "Really?"

"Yeah. I want a garden… maybe not out front, but out back. Something for… for me to work on. I can grow daffodils, like my mother used to… and lavender… my father loved lavender…"

He reached a hand across the table to land on hers, and she fell silent. "That sounds like a great idea, Bones. A really great idea. Although…" he took his hand back, taking another large bite of his pie and chewing through it as she waited patiently for the rest, "I'm not sure how well that would go with the dog."

"Oh, the dog?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, a smirk already forming on her lips. "I don't remember this part of the plan, Booth." _But I like it._

"Well, you know, I can be spontaneous, too. You'll have your garden, I'll have a nice golden retriever, or maybe a Labrador…"

"Or a mutt," she suggested. "It's a documented fact that they're more easily trained and tend to be gentler."

His grin widened, and she knew he had realized that was her way of agreeing. He leaned forward now, more intent on their conversation as his eyes danced with excitement and good humor. She reached forward and cut off another piece of his pie, and he only laughed, going on about how maybe they could get a German Shepherd, and how they could have a pool for when the kids got older. _Oh, kids? Plural?_ she said, and he laughed and said _What do you think?_ and she just smiled, wondering why in the world this was happening, and how she had managed to survive to this point and deserve the future that was spreading out so rapidly in front of them.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Sweets tossed his keys on the counter, shedding his jacket. "Hey," he called.

"In the living room!" came the response, and he picked his bag of takeout up from where he had placed it down next to him.

"I brought Chinese," he said, grinning ruefully as he stepped into the room. Shaw glanced up from her spot on the couch. She was in sweats, her hair up in a messy ponytail and a game controller in her hands.

"Awesome." She nodded towards the spot next to her. "You can join me on the next raid."

He grinned, shuffling forward and dropping down onto the cushion. He quickly pulled the cartons of food out of the bag and arranged them on the table, offering her a pair of chop sticks which she accepted eagerly. She was better with them than he was, and he found himself somewhat jealous whenever they indulged in this particularly unhealthy habit. Although, she insisted it was better than that greasy pizza from that store on the corner that he loved so much. He had to agree. He hadn't even heard of this Chinese place until she had introduced him to it.

"How was work?" he asked, picking out a few strands of Lo Mein and popping them into his mouth.

"The usual," she said with a shrug, picking through the container of fried rice for a piece of rib.

They never talked much about her undercover work. They discussed the technical aspects of the job, about the suspects and the things that she overheard. But they never discussed the non-case related aspects. She said nothing about the drunk men who tried to touch her or the way she saw the other servers slipping out back with the richer of their clientele. He knew, but they still never brought it up.

It was _"How was work?" _and then_ "The usual," _and it was a routine of sorts. One that neither of them attempted to alter.

The first week had been odd. He came by to keep her updated on the FBI side of things, and to join the video-conferences on her end. He brought her mail from her actual apartment, and hovered a bit before awkwardly bidding his farewell. She didn't seem to want anything to do with him, in that time. She pointedly showed him the door, and she was always digging through files, papers laid out across multiple surfaces and the television screen an extension of her laptop as she sorted through details and built up profiles on these people who she encountered on a daily basis.

Then, only a few days ago—although it felt like longer—she had asked him what he thought of something that the manager had said to her. He had brought by Chinese food for her, planning on just dropping it off and being on his way as per the norm, but instead discovered that they had eaten the entire thing and were still engaged in deep theory over the case, sitting next to each other on the couch.

She was a gamer, as he had learned from his previous drop-ins, and she liked to unwind after a long day by sitting up and playing away her stresses. Now that she had a routine, she had discovered that it worked better if she slept through the mornings so she was more prepared for the long nights at the club. When he had said, setting down the last of the takeout containers, that he liked a certain game she had mentioned, a light had gone on in her eyes. She had challenged him to a match, and there was absolutely no way he was going to refuse.

After that, she had stopped showing him the door and started preparing for his arrivals. Some nights she wanted to work, others she wanted to kill zombies. He was flexible, and just glad to feel accepted. And every time he left, he always found himself planning ahead of time where he would go to pick up their next dinner… and how he might be able to get away with gradually making it a bit more romantic.

He would give it more time, and see what happened. Maybe he'd pick up some ideas along the way. He wondered, too, if this was how Booth had felt, after he first started working with Brennan. And then he decided that he was getting way ahead of himself. Shaw wasn't Daisy; he wasn't diving into this unprepared. He really liked her. She was funny and driven and very attractive. They had a lot in common, and they got along really well. He didn't want to screw this up.

_Time._ He just needed to give it time.

If he could remember that, maybe this thing had a chance of success.

"You're going down," she said, as the game loaded.

He grinned. "That's what you think."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_July 2__nd__, 2011_

"Are you going to be okay if you're wrong?" Booth asked, his hand on her leg. She laughed shortly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"See, but I'm not wrong. And if for some reason I am… then yes, I will be perfectly fine."

Booth shook his head, grinning. For someone who believed in pure science, she had gotten awfully convinced lately that her intuition was above all else. They were having a girl, she said, and he didn't doubt her for a second. He just worried that if she was wrong, he might never hear the end of it. She might not have said anything, but he could tell she was already planning everything out. She wanted a garden, and she wanted to plant daffodils and daisies with help from their daughter. She wanted to go dress shopping with Angela—another thing he hadn't seen coming; Bones' feminine side going on a rampage.

The hormones, she said. Hidden aspects of her personality, he thought to himself.

"Dr. Brennan?" the doctor called, and he stood up, helping her to her feet despite the warning look she shot at him. She wasn't showing too much just yet, but her clothing was starting to not fit just right, and he saw the grimaces that flashed across her face when she pushed herself back upright after sitting for a while.

Dr. Lee was smiling warmly when they came into the room and settled themselves down into their customary places. This place was starting to become familiar, now.

They weren't here, today, to find out their baby's gender. Bones had assured him plenty of times that the date when that would be discernible was still some time ahead of them. Today… they were going to hear their child's heartbeat.

"How are we doing since the last time I saw you?" Dr. Lee asked, focusing mainly on Brennan but also looking at him.

"Very well," Brennan answered, her hand rested on the slight bulge of her abdomen.

"Now, I know you're already aware of this, as you called my offices, but all of your blood work came back with very good results. You have nothing to worry about." She handed off the charts to Brennan, anticipating the request and smiling now more out of humor than anything else. Brennan wasn't the most normal of patients, and he watched with equal amusement as she flipped through the report like a pro, scanning through and nodding to herself every now and again before she finally offered it back to the doctor.

They went through a few questions, and Booth sat in the chair, trying not to move to much after it squeaked loudly when he first settled into it. It felt like the thing was built to hold a child. Not a full-grown adult.

"Alright, now there are no guarantees that you will be able to hear anything," Dr. Lee said, motioning for Brennan to lay down and lift up her shirt. He immediately moved out of the chair and came to stand by her side. The doctor pressed the wand to her stomach and began to search. There was nothing, though, that sounded like a heartbeat. Booth could hear his, though, pounding in his chest.

"It… it's normal not to hear it yet?" he asked, squeezing Bones' hand.

"Completely," the doctor said with a firm nod. She searched for another minute before giving up. "It would be fairly early, if we had found it today. But I can run an ultrasound if you are concerned about anything. The heartbeat should be visible on screen, even if we can't locate it using Doppler. And in a few weeks we can expect it to be much easier to hear."

He looked down at her, at the look on her face, and nodded to the doctor. "Yes, let's do the ultrasound."

There was one thing she had said to him so far in this pregnancy that had stuck with him more than any of the rest of it. That night when he had gotten the nightmare, she had said _"I can't lose this child."_ He had told her he would die if he ever lost her, and in her voice, in those words, had been that same depth. That same darker meaning. She truly felt she would die if she lost this child. Right now, he needed the reassurance that it was all okay. That their little baby, that their _daughter_, was doing okay, and was still on schedule to join them in the world.

Dr. Lee nodded her understanding, and started prepping.

Brennan squeezed his hand, glancing towards him with a desperate look in her eyes.

"It's okay," he assured her softly, tracing his thumb across the smooth skin on the back of her hand. "You'll see, it's all okay."

"Listen to your… listen to Seeley," Dr. Lee said, glancing between them again and then shaking her head as she turned her attention back to the machines. She had no idea what to call them, and no clue what they called each other. They were probably the strangest patients she was dealing with at the moment.

She started up the ultrasound, touching the wand gently to her abdomen and sliding it around on the slick surface. "Here we go," Dr. Lee murmured, raising a hand to outline the distinct shape on the screen. "And that, right there, is the heartbeat."

This time, he could see it distinctly. He gave Bones' hand another quick squeeze, beaming.

"See?" he whispered, and she nodded, reaching up to brush quickly at her eyes.

"Yes, I see," she said, her voice wavering but a smile playing on her lips. "She's beautiful…"

"I'll get you print-outs of these latest images," the doctor said warmly. "And then you can schedule your next appointment at the front desk."

"Thank you," Brennan said, relieved.

"Told you," Booth murmured to her as he reached a hand up to stroke down her cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

She just smiled up at him.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_July 30__th__, 2011_

"Are you _sure_ we haven't forgotten anything?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, Bones. I'm sure. The dishes are in that corner, the linens are in those boxes, and everything that we _haven't_ packed is in your bedroom. I promise, we won't forget a single thing."

She nodded. "Good. Also, don't forget; we need to decide which Lamaze class we're going to attend." He grimaced, but nodded his agreement. "Where are the baby books?"

"That box," he reminded her. "You just packed it, Bones."

She scowled, moving over to double check the contents. There were all of Angela's baby books, as well as a small collection of new ones which she had picked up in the past few weeks.

"We need to start getting more serious about names…"

"Hey, hey, we've still got time. We've got the house, now, and yeah, it needs some work… but you aren't due until February."

She sighed. "Sorry. I'm just… feeling a little stressed. All of this moving…"

"I know," he assured, stepping forward to place a hand on her shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze. "Once we're settled in, though, you'll see. It will all be better."

"There's so much to do; we've got to paint, and the porch needs new railings, the piping has issues, the yard is… practically a disaster, we'll need all new appliances since the ones in there are so outdated, and then on top of that there's the basement to think about. We'll need to finish it if we're going to have that play room we were talking about."

"We already covered all of this," Booth murmured. "We made a list, and we're going to check everything off of it, together, Bones."

"Right… you're right. I'm sorry."

He couldn't help but laugh a little. "No worries, Bones. Just focus on keeping track of our little one. That's your primary concern. Leave everything else up to me. I'll make sure it all works out."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You are not managing our interior decoration."

"Alright, you got me there. But I'll make sure Angela does a good job. How does that sound?"

"Like a decent plan. I'm still going to be there, though, don't forget that. And I'm not going to sit around all day. I'm still going to the lab, and I'm still working around the house. I am not disabled merely because I am pregnant. And I can give you plenty of evidence of women who, for centuries, have been handling far greater tasks while—"

"I'm sure you can. Just… don't overdo it, okay? I don't want to have to worry about you any more than necessary."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. If it makes you feel better, I will promise not to 'overdo' it."

"Good. Now, you let me take the heavier boxes, and let's get these into the truck."

"I think I'll start boxing the rest of the stuff, actually."

"Don't trust me not to miss something, Bones?" he asked with a lopsided grin.

"It's not that—" He raised an eyebrow. "Alright," she conceded. "Maybe it is."

He laughed again, shaking his head and scooping up a stack of boxes before he headed for the door. She waited a moment, surveying the emptiness that was her old apartment, and then sighed softly to herself and headed into the bedroom.

The closet was a tumbling mass of her belongings. For all the cleanliness of her home, it was one of the few places, out of sight, that had not gotten the regular treatment. And since Booth had moved some of his things in, her belongings had been pushed and prodded and were no longer in place. It was going to take some sorting to get it arranged into the right boxes before they moved them.

She recognized most of it, although there were some unlabeled boxes which she knew she would have to open in order to understand the contents.

The first couple were no surprise, really. One contained her scarves and hats and gloves. Another held a collection of papers from her college years. In a third box she found a collection of items from her old house. Her first house. They were her parents' things, some of them just odds and ends that they had kept on the end tables, but others were photographs or favorite books of theirs. It was behind this box that she found one which she had not set eyes on in many years. Not since the day she had moved in, in fact.

She swallowed harshly, lifting the lid off of the box with shaking fingers.

_"You're going to be happy here, sweetheart."_

A heart-shaped frame, with a picture of a dog in it. A big brown-eyed German Shepherd.

_"I'm so sorry, Temperance, dear."_

A collection of jagged-edged newspaper clippings with bold letters spelling out her name accompanied with the dark, simplistic words: 'abuse,' 'trial,' and 'assault.'

_"You're in the system, Temp. Come on; live a little."_

A little journal with flowers pressed between the pages and the name _Teresa_ written on it in uneven scrawl. It smelled distinctly of marijuana.

_"This time will be better. Promise."_

A pair of yellow, chunky converse sneakers. Dirty and worn with brown edges and sharpie doodles and outlines. They were tied together by the laces, and on the bottom of one sole was a list of names. The second to last was written in shaky lettering, smudged around the edges.

_Carver._

"Bones?" Her head shot up in surprise, hearing his footsteps coming around the corner. Quickly, she gathered up the articles and everything else from the box, shoving them and the shoes back into it and quickly grabbing another random box from the closet and flipping it open just as he stepped through the door. "There you are. Are you… okay?"

"Fine," she said mildly. "There's just… a lot more in here than I thought."

He nodded slowly, still looking at her with a slight frown. He could tell there was something else, but thankfully he dropped it when she said nothing more.

"Well, you just… keep going through all of this. And I'll take out the stuff you've already gone through. We're taking all of these?" he asked, gesturing to the closed boxes around her.

"Oh… yeah." She reached down and started to pile up the boxes, but there he was, helping her. He picked up her box from foster care, and she opened her mouth in instinctual alarm. He just placed it on top of the others, though, and stood up with all of them.

"I'll be back in a second. Don't get too caught up in looking through your stuff. Don't turn into Parker; it takes him hours to sort just one drawer of his desk." He said it teasingly, but she took it seriously, forcing an amused smile and then sighing heavily once he was gone.

It wasn't time to tell him about her past. Not quite yet. Someday, she was going to tell him everything. She was going to let him know anything he wanted to know, and answer all of his questions. That day just wasn't today. They were happy right now. She was happier than she had ever been before. Her past wasn't hanging over her anymore. It was there, but more because it was a part of her than because it was still hurting her.

She would be sharing it with him because she trusted him. Because she loved him, and he deserved to know everything about her. And there was the chance that it might someday come out. That something might bring it all back to the forefront. She wanted Booth to know. She wanted him to understand. And she didn't want to feel like they had any secrets between them.

The door closed again, and she heard him approaching. A moment later, he stood leaning in the doorframe, smiling down at her.

"You got nothing done since I walked out, did you?" he asked knowingly.

She had to laugh as she shook her head. "You got me."

"Yeah, I knew I did…" he stepped forward and offered her his hand, pulling her up to her feet and meeting her gaze for just a second before he pressed his lips to hers. It was only for the briefest of moments, and yet she felt a warm glow surge through her body, and it remained tingling under her skin as they started to gather up the other boxes.

She looked through the closet quickly, pulling out more of her things, but she saw nothing that might startle him or give away anything that she had not yet shared.

"Let's go, my lazy Bones. Grab a few of those, will you?"

She scooped up a few of the smaller boxes that were still cluttered haphazardly around them, and followed him back out the door, unable to keep the smile off of her face.

He was right; they still had a lot of time. For preparations, for getting the house just the way they wanted it, for picking out a name… but they also had a lot of time to come. A lot of time in which to be together, as a family, and be more than they were right now as the years went by.

All the time in the world.

**Drop me a line and let me know what you thought? Happy New Year everybody :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Yet another Thursday has arrived! I hope you enjoy this latest installment.**_  
><em>

_Chapter 15_

_August 12__th__, 2011_

"Honestly, I love this color. Did you pick it out yourself?" Shaw asked, her head tilted up as her eyes followed the walls around the room.

Everything else was covered in plastic, but Brennan had to agree that the walls did look nice. A dark, rich green for the dining room really brought out the gold in the accent lights that Angela had insisted she buy despite the price tag.

"I had a lot of help, but yes, I did get to make the final call on it," she explained

"Well, it's lovely. I'm so glad Lance and I were able to help."

"And I'm so grateful that you offered. I can't stay in here too long; the fumes and all… and I know Angela and Hodgins are getting tired of working here so much. Angela mentioned to me that she might as well move in, with how much time she's been spending here lately."

"A new house is a lot of work," Shaw intoned honestly, shaking her head. "I don't think I could handle it… I can barely keep track of the apartment, and it's not even really mine."

"It is rather overwhelming. I have never lived in my own house before; ever since I went to college I've been living in either dorm rooms or apartment buildings. But… it's a pleasant change. I enjoy having a yard, and all of this space is really… very nice. Even though it's going to be challenging, trying to maintain it."

"Hey, if our parents could do it, who's to say we can't? And if you ask me, you already have this place under wraps. Everything is coming along nicely. And the yard is _gorgeous_."

Brennan grimaced. "That wasn't cheap. But I couldn't have Booth out there trying to fix it up himself, and I wanted to make sure it was perfect before the winter. That way there will be less to do when spring comes around."

Hammering started up again outside, and both women turned reflexively towards the front side of the house. They could hear the two men calling to each other, but not what was being said.

"Lance isn't very good with power tools. I'm not sure he mentioned that to your… to Agent Booth before he offered to work on the porch."

"I'm sure it's fine."

"I just don't want him to break anything," she said with a wince. "He's brilliant and all, but this stuff is really out of his range of expertise. Unless, of course, your lumber needs some psychoanalysis."

Brennan chuckled, catching the joke. "I don't think that will be necessary."

"Yeah, I didn't really think so."

They migrated out of the recently painted room and back towards the kitchen, which was in much more of a 'finished' stage. The walls had been painted the previous week, and the new countertops were installed now as well. The cabinets gleamed with their shiny new handles, and the stainless steel in the sinks and on the fridge was shiny and new. She loved the feeling of it, even if it hadn't quite sunk in that all of this was hers. She was still getting used to the layout, but she knew eventually it would be second nature. She was looking forward to that day, along with the day when all the plastic would be gone, the rooms upstairs would no longer echo, and the lingering smell of paint would fade and be replaced by whatever it was they were cooking together in the kitchen.

"So, do you have any big plans for tonight?" Brennan asked, reaching into the cabinet to extract two tea cups.

"We're going to the movies; the next Bourne one came out last week and we're going to see if it's any good."

"I don't think I've heard of that series."

Shaw chuckled. "That doesn't surprise me, Dr. Brennan."

"Just Brennan," she assured, setting the temperature for the kettle. "Tea?"

"Yes, please."

"Normally I wouldn't ask this kind of question… but I find myself curious. You and Sweets..?"

"We are together, yes. I know we never really announced it or anything, so I can understand your confusion. I'm not even really sure how it happened, but it did, and I… can't see it being any other way." She shook her head. "I really wish this case was over, so I could get back to my normal schedule and start figuring more of it out… but it doesn't look like that will be happening any time soon."

"I heard there was a break, though."

Shaw shook her head. "No, nothing major. Culver was hopeful, but the lead didn't pan out. Turns out the guy that we were chasing in connection, who we thought might be working as a middle man to front the supplier, was an independent guy working his own angle. No connection to the system running in the night clubs. And they don't want to pick him up, either, because it might spook who we're really after; let them know we're in the neighborhood."

Brennan nodded her understanding.

"You don't think you'll be getting out of there anytime soon, then."

Now Shaw sighed, seating herself on one of the bar stools and resting her elbow on the counter. "I have no idea, honestly. With these things… it depends a lot on luck. I could be working in the club for another week, or another three months. It could go any which way, and there's no real way to predict it. But Culver is working on a new tactical plan that he says will speed up the process, and I have faith in him. He knows what he's doing."

Brennan stirred the tea cups and offered Shaw hers.

"But enough of that," she said, blowing the steam off the surface of the drink. "We're not here to talk about work. What are _your_ plans for tonight?"

"Oh, you know. We're staying in. Booth wants to introduce me to some old television show he used to watch."

"Sounds fun," she said, grinning knowingly. Brennan just laughed. Shaw's expression changed into a thoughtful one. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but… when are you due?"

Brennan laughed. "Is it obvious? Or did Sweets tell you?"

"Both," Shaw said bashfully.

Brennan nodded. "Makes sense. To answer your question, I'm due in early February."

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Not yet. We plan to check next week, though, when the doctor is able to determine for sure either way."

"That's really exciting," Shaw said. "Is there one that you're hoping for more than the other? I mean… not that I'm saying it matters. Because it doesn't."

"I'm not so much hoping… as I am leaning towards the belief that my child will be a girl."

"Wow, really? A girl?" Shaw's smile was widening, her eyes sparkling. "I always thought, you know, if I ever had kids… I'd really like to have a daughter. Even if they are supposed to be much more difficult than boys. Got any names figured out?"

"Not yet," Brennan answered, shrugging away the frown that had begun to form on her face. She hadn't thought of that—of parenting being more challenging with a girl versus a boy. She was already concerned about how well she would fair; she didn't like the idea of more complications. She comforted herself with the uncertainties and the reminder that Booth would help her figure it all out, and then pushed any remaining concerns away.

"Yeah, you've still got plenty of time," Shaw agreed easily. She sipped at her tea, her face twisting suddenly as she set the mug back down. She bowed her head, and then asked, tentatively, "Brennan… you asked me, so I'm just… going to go ahead and ask you. I hope you don't mind. But… are you and Booth… actually together?"

She smiled, unable to contain the relief that there was finally, miraculously, an easy answer to that question. "Yes, we are. I still find it… strange, though. And we don't really have a name for it. Girlfriend, boyfriend… it all sounds so juvenile."

Shaw nodded knowingly. "That… does make sense. And I'm glad to hear it. Honestly, I have been wondering for a while now. I was pretty sure, but even Lance didn't seem to know positively."

"Yes, we haven't ever officially… announced anything."

"Too juvenile as well?"

Brennan laughed. "Yes. And… unnecessary. As you said, most people imply it. Well… they've been implying it long before we _were_ together. Now that we're getting a house together and having a child, though, I believe it will become much more obvious to outsiders that we are in a relationship."

Shaw laughed. "Yes, of course."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"You promise to call me, right? As soon as you're out of your appointment?" Angela demanded, poking a finger at her and narrowing her eyes.

"Of course. I promise."

"Good. Jack took the day off, so he's staying home with Michael. I'm getting out early. I will be all yours, and I am meeting you at three o'clock sharp, with my credit card at the ready."

Brennan groaned softly. "No. That was part of the deal, Ange: you don't pay for anything. In case you've forgotten, you and Hodgins aren't the only ones that are rich."

"As Jack would say, though… he's rich, and you are 'well-off.'"

Brennan glared pointedly.

"Alright, alright, fine. I won't go too crazy. But you have to at least let me buy some toys."

Her scowl stayed in place, but she nodded her acquiescence. "Fine. I did buy some things for Michael, after all."

"More than 'some' things," Angela said with a chuckle. "You have to admit, you got carried away."

"Well, in my defense, I did know I was expecting at that point. It changed things. And… shopping was fun."

"Of course it was _fun_. So indulge me today, alright? And _call_."

"I _will_, Ange. The second I'm out of the office, I will be on the phone."

"Good. Oh, there's Booth now."

Brennan turned, her face lighting up at once as her eyes landed on him. He grinned right back, joining the two of them and greeting Angela lightly. He slid an arm around Brennan's shoulder, the other looping around so he could gently cradle her small baby bump with his other hand.

She curled into the touch, but then twisted away and out from under his arm, linking her fingers through his and tugging him towards the door. "We're going to be late," she insisted.

"Relax, Bones, we've got plenty of time. Bye, Angela."

"Bye, hot stuff. See you _very_ soon, Brennan! Don't forget!"

"What aren't you supposed to be forgetting?" he asked, his hand on her lower back as they exited the lab together. Booth was the only one of the team that was actually working the full day. This was his 'extended lunch break.' Brennan, while still working regularly, was taking today off as the first of what would probably be many. She had to say, she was rather amused with how the others, Cam in particular, were handling that. If she wasn't so certain of how much they all cared for her, she might think they were eager to be rid of her with how pleased they were over her accepting time off.

"To call her when we get out. We're going shopping since we will officially know the baby's gender after this appointment. She wants to be the first to know, outside of the two of us."

He laughed. "Of course she does. I'm surprised she hasn't already bought a room full of girl's things. Your intuition is good enough for me."

"It is for her as well," Brennan said, "But she said something about this being an… occasion. Or something like that. I try not to argue."

"Good plan."

They exited the elevator and moved through the parking garage towards his SUV. She had stopped getting twinges of discontent when coming down here a long time ago, but today she felt the spark of one. The reminder that today only existed because she had managed to survive that single day, with the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of her skull. She pushed the thought away quickly, though, reaching down to nudge at Booth's hand with her own, winding her fingers through his. He turned his head down to smile at her, and she tilted her head up to catch his lips quickly just before they stepped away and went around to their respective sides of the vehicle.

"You ready for this?" he questioned as he pulled out of the garage.

"Of course. There's no reason I wouldn't be. And, as I said before, I will be perfectly fine even if my intuition is incorrect. After all, we haven't purchased anything yet that required our child be one gender over the other."

He chuckled. "I remember. But… I meant are you _ready?_ I mean… you have to admit this changes things, Bones."

"We are a lot closer to my due date," she admitted knowingly.

"We'll work on names tonight?"

"That sounds reasonable. Although it is likely that I will be tired after spending the afternoon entertaining Angela at any number of different stores. Are you sure you don't want to come along?"

"Hey, as much as I want to be involved.. this feels a lot more like a you-and-Angela type of deal. I'll help you when we start picking out, y'know, new toys and stuff."

"And you won't be upset if we buy toys today?"

"Kids need a lot more than a _few_ toys, Bones. Trust me. We'll have plenty more shopping to do, no matter how much you think you're doing today."

She nodded thoughtfully. She was aware that they still had a lot to do, but the way Booth spoke… it sounded like he thought she was underestimating. She wondered if she needed to recalculate her original assessment. Maybe there were other things she should be more concerned about.

"So, Shaw is making some progress with the case."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I was just on the phone with Hacker. He tells me they've got her zooming on the manager at that club she works at. He's probably not big in the organization, but they think he's the link that they've been looking for. She's going to get closer to him; see if she can clone his phone so we can get a look at his activity. See who he interacts with."

"Makes sense." She shook her head, though. "She's been working undercover for a long time, now."

"Yeah, well, some operations take more time than others. Those times that you and I worked undercover, it was for murder investigations. This goes way beyond that. We're not trying to find motives or get people to open up to us here. We're trying to infiltrate a large circle of criminals and destroy an entire drug smuggling operation."

"Still, it seems risky."

He nodded, his lip twisting into a frown. "Yeah, it is. Hopefully not much longer…"

"Do you worry about her?"

He hesitated, and then nodded. "She's a member of my team, Bones. And she's young. Green agents… they shouldn't be in situations like this. Try telling Hacker that, though. He thinks she's ready for this, but he's not out in the field with her. He hasn't seen her at work."

"I thought she was a very competent agent. Smart, although a bit distracted."

"And distractions are what can get you killed," he murmured heavily.

They were silent for a long moment.

"I can't wait for this case to be over," she said softly.

"You know what, Bones? Me too."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth was sitting with Brennan on the couch when the call came in. She had been home from shopping for only an hour, and he had been relieved that she was happy with his job of cooking dinner upon her arrival. Nothing fancy, just spaghetti and some stir-fried vegetables with a sauce recipe Pops had given him with the insistence that he make it 'specially for Temperance.'

She had gotten a little more than he'd been expecting when she had gone out with Angela. Knowing Angela, he had expected her to be accompanied through the door by a number of bags and boxes, but the massive load took the two of them two trips, refusing his help all the way, despite his concerns. Brennan must have been spewing something about female independence and her ability to handle herself at some point that evening, because Angela was just as fiercely backing her in her conviction that she could handle it with no trouble.

He was secretly grateful that she had handled the big stuff without him. Rebecca had asked him to tag along while she had gone on her first shopping excursion for Parker, and he had been out of his depth. Everything he pointed out had been shot down in favor of something else, and he had not been asked to accompany her on future trips. This time, he had planned to go along and simply make sure Brennan picked out what she wanted. Clearly, she had succeeded at that with Angela's help.

There was a crib and a fancy changing table that he was sure would take some time for him to figure out. On top of that came strollers and carriers and car seats, and finally a small assortment of onesies with smiling cartoon animals on the chests.

Angela pointed out, as Brennan was in the other room, that she had protested strongly against bears until she had been shown the collection of teddy bear themed items and had been forcibly handed a brown-eyed and fuzzy-pawed stuffed animal. Her view was still that of a skeptic, but Angela had apparently promised her that her child wouldn't likely encounter any bears, and was unlikely to compare them to their fuzzy toy counterparts anyways.

Still, her apparent favorite appeared to be the elephant-themed items, and as such Angela had taken it upon herself to buy a toy elephant that she said quite confidently would be "the baby's favorite." She had also named him Teddy, an irony that Booth was sure would be lost on Brennan.

Once Angela had departed, though, Booth had dragged his partner away from her new purchases, assuring her that there would be plenty of time to assemble and arrange later.

"Tomorrow," he told her when he got off of the phone, however. "We'll get it all figured out then, okay? And besides, we shouldn't rush it; the room isn't even painted yet."

She shook her head, a frown set firmly on her brow. "Booth, what was that about?" she gestured at his phone, standing up as he moved to the closet.

"Shaw got ahold of Shadwick's phone," he said, gathering up his coat and shoving his arms into the sleeves.

"…I thought that would be a good thing?" she asked, following him towards the front door, her frown still firmly set in place.

"Yeah, it would have been. Except there are indicators that they know Taylor was an informant for us, and that they're going to do something about it."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Thank you so much," Taylor emphasized for probably the tenth time that evening. She sat on the end cushion of one of the couches in the den of the small home, staring up at him with watery eyes.

"Hey, when the FBI promises that we aren't going to let anything happen to someone, we like to keep that promise. You know, reputation and all."

She smiled at that, and brushed at her eyes. "I still can't believe this is happening," she whispered, gazing around in continuing disbelief. They were in a safe house, outside the city. The place was small, but cozy, meant to house only one or two people. It would serve as her temporary home until either the men with an interest in killing her were captured or it was determined necessary to move her fully into the Witness Protection program. In all likelihood, the second would occur regardless. She was not in a good position, what with a large scale drug operation's founders out for her blood.

Sweets had called her over to his car when she was leaving work, and had filled her in on the situation and where she was going. Booth had met them in a nearby parking lot, as she had begun to panic, and with his reassurances that the FBI was indeed handling the situation and she was in no danger at the moment, she relaxed enough for them to explain the rest of the situation and get her to her new home.

Shaw was still planted and her identity, as far as anyone knew, was uncompromised. The messages saved on the phone showed no indication that there were any concerns about her, although it was clear that the traffickers, and Shadwick, were aware that there was someone gunning for them. Maybe they had noticed more blocks on their operation, maybe they were starting to feel the eyes that were watching them, but whatever it was, they _knew_. And it really wasn't a shock, either. This far into the operation, working with these types of people who were bound to be suspicious all the time regardless… oh yes, they would know.

At the moment, police cruisers and yellow tape covered the entrance to an alleyway in downtown Washington. Reporters on the scene announced that a woman had been found murdered, but that police had no details and were currently not releasing the identity, or discussing if they had any suspects. Sometime later in the evening, it would be announced at a press conference that the woman's name was Taylor Madison. In a few days, when the media had nearly forgotten and moved on, they would proclaim that her murder was a product of wayward gang violence. A random incident that would, most unfortunately, never be solved. There would be a closed casket at the funeral.

No one would ever be seeing that body.

The television set in the corner of the den remained firmly in the off position, the screen dark. It would be better if Taylor didn't watch the news of her own death as it broke across the city and eventually the county. She didn't have much family left alive, and they would be carefully notified. Watching her, though, he was reminded of his own false death, and the wondering that had come along with that. Thinking about how much he just wanted to see everyone's faces, how much he needed to reassure himself that Bones really was okay after everything that had happened.

And then the waiting.

He couldn't imagine what it would have been like if he'd been separated from everyone for more than two weeks. Those days had been the longest in his life, and the thought that for some people it was a permanent deal… it was simply beyond fathoming. No, if he was ever required to go under that deep, to be dead and stay that way… he would disappear alright. Straight off the grid. And Bones would be coming with him, along with their child.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he raised an apologetic hand in Taylor's direction, taking a step back to answer.

"Booth, where are you?" Brennan of course.

He winced. "Bones, I can't tell you that. But it's all okay. I promise. And I will be home… as soon as I can."

There was a long silence on the line. "Alright. You… you'll be back before two, though?"

He cut his eyes towards the clock on the wall, grimacing as he took stock of the time. It was already past midnight; there had been some stalling involved when it came to details and waiting to inconspicuously scoop up Taylor as she left her shift at the club.

"I'll try. Don't wait up; get some sleep."

"I'm awake anyways," she said easily, as though any other option was foolish. His lips quirked up in an unrestrained smile. Of course.

"I love you."

She laughed warmly, having not expected the abrupt line. "I love you, too, Booth. Bye."

"Bye, Bones."

He turned back towards Taylor, but found her conversing with another agent. The rest of the team was starting to pack up, save for the two who would spend the night to keep an eye on things. He joined the others, suddenly relieved that he would be back at home well before Brennan's hopeful prediction. With the reminders of that dark time between them fresh in his head, he had the strong, nearly overwhelming urge to wrap her in his arms and never let go.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_August 28__th__, 2011_

"Exactly how many of these do I need?" Brennan asked, frowning at the growing load of diaper packages in the carriage she was pushing. Angela tossed in a few more, eyeing the amount with a narrowed expression and pursed lips.

"They go quickly," she promised. "So having plenty on hand will be key. I promise you, you won't regret this."

Brennan frowned. "Alright. Does it really matter which one of these diaper bags I get, though?"

"Sweetie, believe me when I say that the one you've got right there is the one you're going to _love_ in only a few months."

She nodded thoughtfully, eyeing the colorful bag sitting on top of the pile of diapers.

They turned a corner and headed up another aisle.

"Oh, this is adorable!" Angela gushed, picking up a plush butterfly shaped object, and a second later scooping up a flower one as well. "They're wall ornaments," she explained, holding them out for Brennan to take.

"They're… cute."

Angela beamed. "Yes, they are. I think you should get them."

"But they're decorations, Ange. And I already told you that Booth and I haven't decided on a final design for the nursery. Because he insists that there be a theme. I still don't understand why we can't just paint it purple and decorate with pastel colors as is traditional with a baby girl."

"Oh, indulge him, Bren. And me, while you're at it. Tell you what, I've got a few sketches left over from my original plans in case Michael had been a girl instead. I'll drop them by for you and Booth to look through, see if anything pops."

"I don't know…"

"You'll love them, really. I've got a garden themed one, a flowery meadow, a sunny park…"

"Fine, we'll take a look."

Angela grinned widely. "Excellent. Hey, you know what? We should go get dinner tonight. You and Booth, me and Hodgins. It'll be fun. We haven't done something together in ages."

"That could be fun. But I get the idea you're thinking something other than the Diner or the Founding Fathers."

"You read my mind."

"I'm not sure how Booth would feel about that," Brennan murmured, putting the wall decorations back where Angela had found them.

"Oh come on; it will be good to get away from the job for a while."

"He's at the safe house now. I don't know when he'll be back—he doesn't give me solid hours anymore."

Angela eyed her worriedly. "Brennan, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. This case just…" she shook her head. "It _worries_ me, Ange. We've faced serial killers, we've been shot at and nearly killed so many times… but this is just… not the same."

"I know what you mean. We don't normally deal with stuff like this. And it all feels like… like we're out of our depth."

Normally Angela would try to be reassuring in a time like this. The fact that she wasn't concerned Brennan more than anything else.

"I'll talk to Booth about dinner when he calls. If he's going to be home by then… I'll try to convince him that we should go."

Angela's smile returned. "I'll look through the options. There are a few places I've been dying to try…"

"I'm sure there are. In fact, there's one place I've been looking at as well."

"That settles it, then. We'll collaborate later, when we're putting all of this stuff away." She brushed against the edge of a display as they rounded another corner, and a stuffed animal tumbled to the ground. Brennan bent over to pick it up, and as she did a twinge of pain shot down her spine. She grimaced, straightening back up without it as her hand automatically reached around to land on her lower back.

"Hey, what happened?" Angela demanded, stepping away from the cart, her eyebrows drawn together.

"Nothing. Just… my back."

Angela's frown didn't go away. "Back pain is normal," she started hesitantly, "But you're only just starting to show… Did it go away, or is it still there?"

"Still there. But I'm fine. Really." She stepped forward, and then nodded to herself, her face muscles relaxing. "No worries," she assured. "And… it has happened a few times before now."

Angela nodded thoughtfully, her concerns not completely removed, and they turned down another aisle.

It was as they were leaving the store, both of them pushing a full carriage towards Angela's vehicle, that Brennan reluctantly mentioned, at Angela's renewed questioning, that she was experiencing some stomach cramping, and had felt dizzy earlier, but it had gone away when they had gotten lunch and she has assumed it was related to hunger.

Now Angela's radar was up. "Should we get you to the doctor?"

Brennan opened her mouth to say that she didn't think that was necessary. But then she felt a change, and her face went white. "Yes. Yes, Angela… we should go now."

"What?" Angela demanded, fiercely opening the trunk of her Escalade and starting to toss bags in as fast as she could. The car beeped loudly as she unlocked it and pointed at the passenger door to indicate that Brennan should get in and sit down right away. Moments later, she was whipping out of the parking lot and onto the busy streets of DC. "Brennan, what's going on? Are you… are you okay?"

Brennan's face was still papery white, and she was biting into her lower lip, her eyes shut. But at Angela's questions, they fluttered open and she took in a shaky breath. "Angela, I think I'm bleeding."

Angela's eyes went wide, and all her attention went to the road in front of them. "Call your doctor," she said firmly. "Get yourself an emergency appointment, okay Bren? And… and don't worry, okay? I'm sure everything is… fine."

Brennan nodded, feeling dizzy now for other reasons entirely. Her hands trembling, she pulled out her cell phone and made the call.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

They waited for around an hour before Dr. Lee could see them, but a nurse was assigned to examine her in a free room, and was able to tell her that she was not going into premature labor or entering an immediate miscarriage.

The word 'immediate' in that sentence seemed to take on a grave other meaning during the rest of the wait. Angela flipped aimlessly through health magazines, but Brennan couldn't keep herself occupied. She stared at the opposite wall or watched the people that bustled in and out every few minutes, her hand stroking gently across her abdomen as she tried to think of reassurances that simply did not exist.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

When she was finally welcomed into the familiar room, Angela tagging along behind her, Dr. Lee listened intently as Brennan explained the symptoms.

_Threatened Miscarriage_. That was what the doctor told her it was called. The words immediately struck a chord with her, and she stiffened, fear coursing through her as she demanded further explanation. Treatment. Medication. What was happening, and how could it be stopped?

The most common symptom, Dr. Lee relayed to her, was vaginal bleeding. Dizzy spells and back pain weren't unheard of, but she suggested that these could also be attributed to normal pregnancy symptoms. As for treatment, there wasn't any.

Nothing could be done, if the miscarriage went through.

"We'll run an hCG levels test, and we can do another ultrasound right now, but I can't make any promised either way. You have to understand that, while the odds are good that this pregnancy will carry through… there's also a chance that it won't. I will be able to give you more definitive information in a few days, and you'll need to return on Tuesday for another hCG test. Try to abstain from any rigorous activities, including sex, and other than that… try to get your mind off of this. Your partner can help you with that." She glanced towards Angela. "And your friends as well."

Brennan nodded, feeling sick. The words kept reverberating around in her skull. _Threatened Miscarriage._

They found the heartbeat on the ultrasound, but the doctor told her that, while it was a good sign, it didn't mean they shouldn't still be concerned. If her hCG levels continued to rise as they were supposed to between the two tests, then they would begin moving forward; keeping a watchful eye out for any other warning signs as the pregnancy continued. She would also need to keep an eye out for any more bleeding, which she said was likely, but so long as it didn't increase then there was no reason to make another emergency trip to see her.

She left the appointment feeling far less reassured than she had been hoping. Numbness seemed to ripple through her, and she felt like she had just gotten out of surgery rather than an appointment.

"Sweetie?" Angela asked gently as they walked from the hospital entryway to where she had parked the car.

"I'm fine," she whispered. It was a lie, and an obvious one. Angela didn't ask again, though.

Her phone began to ring as they headed back through the city, and she felt a near-panic start to overwhelm her as she saw Booth's name on the screen. She looked to Angela helplessly, and her friend silently took the phone from her. Brennan slumped into her seat, relieved and tired and feeling completely helpless.

She tried not to listen as Angela carefully explained the evening to Booth.

He would have a lot of questions for her tonight. Questions she wasn't sure she could answer.

When Angela hung up, she held the phone back out to her, and Brennan accepted it, staying silent for a long moment before she murmured, "Thank you."

"No problem, sweetie."

She cleared her throat as they came closer to their destination. "I don't think we'll be getting dinner tonight," she said softly.

"I know, Bren. I know."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth stepped into the house at about five o'clock that night, shedding his coat and looking around in the foyer before peering around the corner into the darkened kitchen. In fact, the whole house seemed dark tonight. He felt a heavy weight tugging at his heart, pulling it deeper into his chest. He could still hear the beat of it, though, and tonight it was a loud, desperate thrum.

"Bones?" he called tentatively, shedding his jacket and carefully placing the keys on the table by the door before he headed up the hallway towards the den. A dim light emanated from the doorway.

She didn't respond, but she did look up when he stepped into the room. Her eyebrows fell in a solid, creased line across her brow, and her eyes were soft, the light reflecting too much off of them from the screen of the laptop opened on the coffee table in front of where she had positioned herself on the couch. Teddy the Elephant sat next to her, somehow managing to look somber.

"Bones…"

The fears he had been working through on the drive home all hit him with double the strength now that he was here with her staring back at him. Everything they had been building, all of their dreams for the future, every last bit of their lives… seemed to hang in the balance. There was life within her. A daughter whose name they hadn't even decided upon.

And before they got the chance to meet her, before she was made to understand just how much these two people loved her already… she might be taken from them. He had no idea how to handle that.

Shakily, Brennan pushed herself to her feet and came towards him. There were no words, but a moment later she collapsed into his arms, and he sank under the weight of everything until the both of them were on the ground, her shoulders shaking and his eyes irrepressibly beginning to water. His back hit the front edge of the couch, and he clutched her closer to him, tucking her into his chest and pressing his face into the warmth of her hair, taking comfort from what was real and in front of him.

Because it was this he could hold and believe in. And the intangibles, the things that were drifting away, were just too difficult to grasp, to explain, to reason with.

**A/N: Please don't kill me for that. But please do drop me a line to let me know what you think. I could use some motivation to get myself focused on finishing both this and Hidden versus sitting around watching NCIS, Castle, and Firefly on DVD every day, all day long, for the next (and final) week of my vacation. Save me from myself and my horrible laziness, and reassure me that I didn't lose all of you with that terrible hiatus I took from this story. **


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16_

_September 3__rd__, 2011_

There was a heaviness within Brennan, as she studied the bones on the table in front of her. Logically, she knew that work should be able to help her. It was a distraction, and it had always been her rock. Her one way of escaping and finding a place that was just hers, a place in which she could give everything else away and just be satisfied with the small details.

Not these past few days, though, and certainly not today.

She checked her cell phone again, for signs of messages or missed calls that she knew would not be appearing on the screen. With how sensitive she was to every small noise and sensation, she would have known the moment it made any sound or vibration.

Her background picture, an image of her and Booth, smiled up at her again, and big block numbers in white told her that it was ten-twenty AM. It was still early. And there was no guarantee the call would even come today. It could be tomorrow. Or the day after that. There was no way of knowing. After all, she had been so sure that yesterday would be the day. But it hadn't been, and here she was. Still wondering.

Booth had called an hour ago, sending her heart pounding, but he had only wanted to let her know that he would pick her up for an early lunch at eleven. He had asked to stay out of the safe house for today, and was catching up on paperwork. She was grateful for it, having spent the evening the day before alone and slowly unraveling as she stared at the phone.

As the metallic buzz of the security system sounded, she looked up to find Angela ascending the stairs and coming towards her.

"Hey, sweetie. Who do you have there?"

She glanced down at the bones, staring at the skull for a long moment before the answer came to her. She knew she was out of it, and that it would probably be best if she just took the rest of the day off, but instead she cleared her throat and met Angela's eyes. "A World War II era soldier. He's from the recent arrivals that we got; the bodies that were washed out of their graves by flooding."

Angela nodded. "How's the identification process going?"

"Slow," she said simply, not giving away her reasoning. Angela knew she was still waiting on the results from her doctor, but she said nothing, and she didn't ask if they were back yet. The answer to that question was written all over Brennan's face.

"Hm. Well, he's not going anywhere. Do you want to get a late breakfast with me?"

"Actually, Booth and I are going to get an early lunch."

"Right. I think he mentioned that."

They were silent for a long moment, Brennan staring at the bones but not really seeing them. Angela stayed where she was, until Brennan finally broke the silence.

"I know you're worried."

Angela's eyes widened. "Yeah," she said softly. "Yeah, I am, Bren."

Brennan pressed her lips tight together, taking a deep breath in through her nose. "I'm still waiting on the phone call." The call that would determine her entire future.

Angela swallowed. "I know that… that it's not the same thing, sweetie, but I understand some of what you're going through. Pregnancy is… wonderful, but it's also terrifying." Her voice shook. "We were really lucky. Michael is fine, and he has his sight, and… it all worked out. But I know what it's like to think that it won't."

Brennan nodded hesitantly. "I know you do, Ange. I just don't know what I'm going to do, if this… if…"

"Hey," Angela said immediately, reaching out to put a hand on Brennan's arm. She raised her gaze to meet her friend's. "Just hang in there, okay, Brennan? And if you ever need to talk…"

"Then I know where to find you," Brennan finished for her, nodding. "Thanks."

"No problem. Can I..?" she gestured towards the skull, and Brennan nodded. "I'll be in my office," the artist said, snapping on gloves and tenderly picking it up to take with her.

Brennan watched her go, and then gave the remaining skeleton another once over before she gave up and removed her own gloves, tossing them in a trash can on her way down from the platform towards her own office. She needed some time in solitude.

Pulling the blinds, she shed her lab coat and draped it over an arm of the couch, settling herself down at the opposite end and staring around at all of her possessions. So many places were summarized in her surroundings. So many memories reflected back at her from the artifacts on her shelves. There were items from all over the world, from well-known places and rarely visited corners of humanity. Some of them still brought shivers down her spine, while others instilled warmth and a few even threatened a tear or two.

Yes, she had been far in her life. But there was still so much more of it, and what she had, she intended to keep. She had been circling it for so long, orbiting a future that she hadn't been ready to admit was waiting for her, and now she had finally settled into reality. She had Booth. He was hers, in every sense. He loved her, something she had never thought would be possible. Even more fascinatingly, she loved him back. There had been a time for doubts, and it was long passed. Booth wasn't going anywhere. If she lost this child, he would still be right by her side.

Her hand fell to her abdomen, cradling the small but noticeably bump that had formed there. Her shirts didn't fall as long as they used to, and she had taken to wearing ones without buttons. Her fingers slid over the shape of it, round and soft, and she leaned her head back and released a shaky breath.

The idea that her body could betray her was not something she was unfamiliar with. There were many instances when she had felt out of control, but all of them she had learned from. She had adapted. Learned martial arts and other methods of self-defense. Become an excellent marksman. Kept emotions at a distance. This, though? This wasn't something she could work around. She could not just train herself to fix this problem. If her body betrayed her, if it stole away the ray of life that she had thought would still be growing inside of her for months to come… she truly had no idea what she would do about it.

She _wanted_ this child. More than anything else in the world, she wanted this baby. _Needed_ this baby. How could her body not understand that? How could it fight against the very thing she needed the most in this world?

Science was turning its back on her, all of its answers suddenly dark and condemning. Her research had shown her that in most cases the causes were never fully determined. All of the obvious situations like drug and alcohol abuse or STDs didn't apply to her. No, the only likelihood was that her body couldn't support it and was revolting.

_Why?_ She thought desperately. She did everything she could. She was already healthy and fit before the pregnancy, and she hadn't changed that as the pregnancy began to go through the starting phases. There was nothing. No logical explanation. No fault to be found.

And there was the chilling reality, too, that if this really happened… then it could happen again.

Hadn't she read all about it, when Angela gave her those books and she began to learn everything she could? Some couples suffered countless miscarriages and eventually turned to adoption as their only source of hope. Others couldn't handle the stress and the tragedy and fell apart and away from one another.

She swallowed sharply, reminding herself that she didn't know anything for sure. When the facts came in, she would assess again. She would do all the research over again, and find out what their chances were.

Carefully, she avoided wondering about the gap in between. The time when reality would set in that they had lost a child they had not even yet gained.

Biting back the tightness in her throat, she pushed her shirt up and let both palms lay flat on her smooth skin.

She hesitated a moment, and then said softly, "The books say that… that a baby can begin to hear its mother at around eighteen weeks." She shook her head. "I don't… I don't know if you can hear me or not. I don't even know if you're there." She swallowed, blinking rapidly. "And I know that you can't understand anything yet. Of course you can't; speech won't begin to make sense to you until months after you're born. But if you can hear me, then maybe it will make you feel _safe_."

Her voice cracked, and she whispered a curse to herself, regretting it instantly but reminding herself that if she could be heard, it wouldn't make any sense regardless. It was the thrum of her voice that had the real effect. She didn't have to be a shrink to know that she was doing this for herself, though. The words were for her, even if the exercise was meant to be for both of them. "I love you," she whispered. "And you have no idea what that means because loving is… really not something I'm used to." She was silent, for a long moment, and then she said softly, "Don't leave me. _Please_… just don't leave me."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"How are you doing, Bones?" Booth asked cautiously, watching her intently over their table at the Founding Fathers.

"Not well," she answered honestly, setting down her fork and shaking her head. "I will feel a lot better after we know for sure."

"And if… we don't want to hear what the doc has to say?"

She looked away. "Then we'll deal with it."

"Bones, don't you think we should talk about this? We've been avoiding it, waiting on the news…"

"And that is the best course of action."

He sighed. "I'm as scared as you are. You know that, right?"

She nodded. "I know," she said seriously. "Believe me… I know."

His eyes slid closed. "We're going to hear soon enough. We'll… we'll get the call, and they'll tell us for sure. Either way."

"Yes," she agreed heavily. "Either way."

"Do you want to hear about the case?" he offered after a pause.

She shot him a grateful look. "Yes. Please."

"Alright. I told you Shaw was able to clone her manager's cellphone. From what we can determine, he's actually playing a larger role in the operation than we had originally believed. He's not the boss, but he's definitely calling some of the lower-end shots."

"This is a big development?"

"Oh yeah, Bones. This changes the game plan. A lot. Now, we're starting to get a better view of who the major players are. Shadwick is one puzzle piece that will lead us to _all_ the others. And every call he makes… now we'll know about it."

"So it won't be much longer."

"Hopefully not. If everything goes according to plan, that is."

"What about Taylor?"

"She's safe, although she hasn't given us anything else useful recently. I'm not sure she knows any more, but if she does, it would be great if she'd spill it for us. They are trying to kill her now, after all."

"She became conditioned to that lifestyle. It will take a while for her to break those bonds, regardless of if doing so will help her in the end. Loyalty is not logical. Especially in a group dynamic like the one we are dealing with."

"Sweets said something similar. He hasn't been to the safe house, but he's been pretty valuable with consulting, and especially when he's working with Shaw. They make quite a pair, the two of them."

"They really do. Have you found anything new that might link to our original murder investigation?"

He sighed. "You know, sometimes I forget this all started with a body and a note scrawled on a napkin…" He shook his head, and then continued, "We don't have much, but I do have some surveillance images of Shadwick from Shaw, and I'm having Angela run them to see if she can match anybody from our original surveillance footage from Kaminski's place."

"What about the missing laptop?"

"That's Shaw's next step, if Angela confirms he was the one that took it."

She frowned. "I find it unlikely that he would have it at the club, Booth."

"Which is why she's going to need access to his house."

Brennan's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah," Booth muttered. "Another of Hacker's brilliant ideas. Sweets is working up an alternative proposal, though, and I like the sounds of it."

The waitress came by and delivered their plates, and for a moment they were distracted by the warm food in front of them.

"What is this plan?" she asked, lifting a fork of asparagus to her mouth and eyeing him expectantly.

Booth swallowed his bite of cheeseburger. "If we can prove that he was the one that took the laptop, then we can get a warrant to search for it."

"Wouldn't that let him know about the investigation?"

"The _murder_ investigation. Not the one centering around the drug ring. At this point he should already know we're involved in hunting for Kaminski's killer."

"Isn't it likely that he would have destroyed or disposed of the laptop?"

"Yeah, it is. But for the sake of our investigation… we're hoping otherwise."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Got some big news for you, G-man," Angela said as soon as she saw them coming around the corner. They had been on their way to Brennan's office, but she quickly ushered them into her own to show them what she had discovered.

On the screen were two blown-up images, one of Shadwick and the other of the shadowy figure in the hoodie. Familiar dots and lines wove across both of their faces.

"We've got a match," Angela said, beaming.

"I could hug you, Ange," Booth said, grinning at the screen. "I've got a few calls to make, but I think we just saved Shaw a lot of time, and a lot of unpleasantness."

"I'll take your word for it. What's our next move?" the artist questioned, crossing her arms and looking to Brennan as Booth pulled out his cell phone and paced away from them.

"Booth tells me that with this he should be able to get a warrant to search Shadwick's home for the laptop. From there… hopefully we can get a better picture of the operation."

"And Kaminski's killer?"

Brennan tipped her head. "Booth seems to be hopeful that we will be… killing two birds with one stone."

Angela turned to look again at the images on the screen. "The question is, how do we prove that he killed her with just this image?"

"Get him to talk," Brennan murmured, her gaze drifting towards Booth, who was talking quietly with what was assumedly another agent. Perhaps even Hacker. She reached down to pull out her own phone, glancing only briefly at the screen before sliding it back out of sight. Still nothing. For now, the waiting game would continue.

She didn't know how much longer she could do this.

Angela watched her do it, but averted her eyes when Brennan glanced towards her. She didn't ask, already knowing the answer to the question on both of their minds. _No news yet_.

Booth turned around, dropping his phone back into his pocket and rejoining them.

"Hacker's moving forward on the warrant, and he's going to contact Shaw and tell her to keep up the same profile as before, and stay mostly out of the way. No need to draw attention to herself; we're going to get our man."

"Good," Angela emphasized. "The sooner this is all over, the better. I'm planning a big get-together to celebrate, and I would prefer if it didn't coincide with a major holiday."

Even Brennan could tell that she was only partway teasing about that last part. And she was right. The sooner this investigation was closed, the sooner Shaw was free of her undercover work, the sooner all of their lives could return to normal. They hadn't worked another case in what felt like ages. She had insisted to both Booth and Hacker that her team could work another investigation with this first one being so spread out and slow-moving, but he had insisted that this was top priority, and that he didn't want any of them distracted by another murder case. So they spent the days waiting for anything new to go off of, and slowly slogging through the backlog of cases in Limbo.

It was probably for the better, if she was being honest with herself. Were they working a typical murder case, she would want to be out in the field with Booth, following leads and questioning suspects and witnesses. And with the pregnancy, that would be difficult and possibly dangerous. The choice had already been made for her, here. She wasn't seeing the outside of the lab for anything other than trips to her apartment or the Diner or any number of stores that Angela brought her to. It all seemed very typical; boring, almost. Like her life had been separated from the one she had been leading before.

She wondered just how much it would continue to change after the baby was born. If she could go back to field work and the long hours that came with it. Angela had struggled, initially, to readjust and get used to not being with Michael twenty-four-seven.

The Jeffersonian had an excellent daycare facility, though, she reminded herself. Admittedly, her late night hours would probably disappear, but it seemed that they had already begun to do that quite some time ago, when she began her relationship with Booth. She couldn't remember the last time she had awoken to find herself on her office couch, having spent yet another night at work. There had been times when she would realize she hadn't seen the inside of her apartment for days, and someone, usually Angela, would guilt her into going home.

Somewhere along the line, that had changed. She had gotten back into what Booth liked to call a 'healthy routine.' She woke up in their home, with him by her side, and they rode into work together, him dropping her at the lab before driving over to the Hoover. Sometimes he would come in for a few minutes to see everybody, but mostly he only came by again later to pick her up for lunch and then at the end of the day.

She pulled herself out of her musings as Booth called her to the door with him. She said a hasty good-bye to Angela, and the moment the door was shut behind them Booth took her hand and pulled her towards her office.

"I'm going back to the Hoover," he told her, turning her around to face him as they stood outside her door. "I'll come back to pick you up at five, but if you get the phone call… just call me, alright? I'll be here right away."

She nodded. "I will, Booth."

"Love you," he said softly, giving her a gentle kiss.

"I love you too," she whispered, burrowing her head quickly into his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him.

He gave her a soft, hesitant smile, an understanding passing between them before he turned and walked away. They were in this together, she reminded herself. He was hanging in the same balance as she was, waiting for the answers to all of their questions.

One phone call.

She hated this.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

There was really nothing much to do in his office but fill out paperwork, and he was far from focused on it, which was why it sat in a large stack to his right. He hadn't been focused in days. Not since he had called Bones and gotten Angela instead. Not since she had told him quietly, and as reassuringly as she could, that Brennan was okay, but they had just been to the hospital.

Shakily, he had asked _why_, and she had told him that Brennan had just had something the doctor's had declared as a _threatened miscarriage_. The first word went right over his head, and the second slammed him the gut and knocked all the breath out of him.

_"Is the baby… is the baby still..?"_

_ "We don't know, Booth."_

He'd had no clue what he was supposed to say to Brennan when he finally arrived home that night. What would she want to hear? Certainly not false promises that he knew he couldn't keep. And he couldn't be reassuring and hopeful when in all reality he felt like someone had just smashed him in the face with a hammer.

These things weren't supposed to happen to them.

Her life hadn't been easy, and he still didn't know all the details, but he imagined that some of it he probably wouldn't want to hear. There were stories from his past that he doubted she would want to hear about, too, but they existed. And all these years, working together, fighting attraction, hurting each other… they were supposed to end differently than this.

For God's sake, he was finally doing something _right_. All these years in love with her, and he had gotten his heart broken and broken hers in the process. He had just started to mend both of them. They were together, like they were supposed to be. They were working through their issues, they were getting over the past, and they were building a future. They were going to have a baby. They were going to build that family that they both so desperately deserved after all they had been through. Watching the changes in her, watching the joy in her eyes and confidently helping her get through each hurdle and each small concern, had been the most exciting and rewarding thing for him.

He just couldn't comprehend that it could be taken away.

A gun had been pressed to the back of her skull, and she had talked her way out of it, right in front of him. They had let her live, because she was pregnant. That was supposed to be a blessing. A miracle. It was not supposed to be a tradeoff. They were _both_ supposed to survive, to be with him.

Not just _one_ of them.

He buried his head in his hands.

She didn't want to talk about it. A part of him was grateful for that. It meant he didn't have to talk about it either. But a part of him was also scared stiff. Because he knew that this could truly go either way, that control was completely out of their hands. What would happen if she had a miscarriage? How were they supposed to move on from that?

He pictured the nursery in the home they had slaved over together. The walls were not yet painted and it needed some decorations, but there was furniture and carpeting and a beautiful window seat in the corner. There were lacy white curtains and light purple pillows. It was the room of an angel. Their little angel.

He didn't want it to remain empty forever, a hollow reminder of what they had lost.

And what if she didn't want to try again? Or what if she did, and it didn't go through?

These were things he had never considered. When she had told him she was pregnant, there had only been joy. So many promises for the future, so much to do, so many things to explore.

He refused to accept that it had all been for nothing.

He lifted his head and sent up another desperate plea, all the while wondering why. Why him? Why Bones, who had been through so much, and who deserved more happiness than anyone in the world? Where had they gone wrong?

A knock on his door made him shake himself out of it, and he blinked his eyes and recognized Hacker. He motioned for his boss to come in, and Hacker pulled the door open and leaned around the frame.

"That warrant should go through by tomorrow morning. Thought I'd give you a heads up on where it stood."

"Alright, sounds good."

"Do you plan on heading the team?"

He opened his mouth, and then paused. "No, I don't think so," he said at last. "Let Charlie have this one."

"Can do." He gave a little salute, laughing to himself over his joke, and then disappeared once more. Booth stared after him, shaking his head. Bones had dated him, and for the life of him, he still didn't understand why.

He glanced at his clock, and then decided it was worth going to the lab a little early. It was nearly four-thirty, now, and the odds of him actually getting any amount of work done were getting slimmer as the hour waned.

He pulled on his jacket, snatched up his keys, and headed to go see his Bones.

The lab was quiet when he arrived, with the typical murmur from other squints and the occasional bustle as they passed through with charts or files clutched in hand, talking rapidly to one another. Angela and Hodgins were on the platform, but there was no sign of Cam, Wendell, or Brennan.

When he came into view of her office, though, he spotted her immediately, sitting behind her desk under the soft glow of her lamp, staring at her computer screen. She glanced up and saw him, but only kept her eyes on him for a moment before turning her attention back to the work in front of her.

He knocked on the door, opening it as he did so and slipping inside. "Hey, Bones."

"You're early," she greeted, offering a small smile. A crease between her eyebrows told him she was focused, though, and a moment later she began to type again, her focus drawn away from him and back to the screen. He was glad to see that she was distracted; working hard on something just like the Bones he remembered.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "Nothing to do at the office, so I thought I'd come see if you were ready to go home just yet."

"When I finish with this I will be," she agreed with a nod. "Doctor Todd from the paleontology department thought I might be able to help him with something, and I want to respond adequately. Although I told him he would have to wait on any in-person consultation until sometime next week."

Booth nodded, hovering a moment and then finally settling for a spot on the couch.

She finished a moment later, tapping a final key on the keyboard, her eyes rapidly scanning back and forth for a few seconds before she nodded to herself, sent the email, and pushed her chair away from the desk.

"They didn't call," she said calmly, gathering up her coat and her belongings.

"Yeah, I figured," he murmured softly, moving quickly to her side to help her.

"I can't help but wonder if the… if the delay is a good thing, or a bad thing."

He brushed her hair away from her face, wishing he had the answer for her. "I don't know, Bones. We'll just… keep waiting."

She set her jaw, eyes flashing briefly. "I hate waiting," she murmured under her breath.

"I know. I do, too. But this just means that… they will definitely call us tomorrow."

"If they don't, then I'm going to drive over there and ask them myself. Maybe… they forgot to call us. That could be why, right?"

He opened his mouth and shut it again, and then finally answered, "It could be. Just… don't go without me."

She paused on her way to the door, eyes softening. "Sorry. Of course I won't."

"Hey, no worries, Bones. Let's just get home, and we'll make supper and keep ourselves busy. Okay? Like the doctor said."

"Right," she said, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it.

He draped an arm around her shoulders, taking her bag from her despite her sharp look of protest and slinging it over his own shoulder.

They were walking past the platform, Booth waving to Angela and Hodgins and them calling their farewells for the evening, when Brennan's phone rang. She stopped short, and he was pulled to a halt beside her, all the breath gushing out of his lungs as she jerked it free of her pocket and glanced at the screen for only a moment before pressing it to her ear and saying a breathless, "Dr. Brennan."

He couldn't hear what was being said, but he watched her face desperately for any clues, not getting anything. Her eyes landed on his, though, as she nodded, said she would be there right away, and hung up.

"What is it?" he asked immediately. Over Brennan's head, he could see Angela and Hodgins both staring at them, moving closer to the edge of the platform.

"They can't release results over the phone… but we can get them at the hospital. Dr. Lee said that she can fit us in for a quick appointment to discuss them."

He nodded, a slow swirl of anticipation circling in his gut. He couldn't decide if he was ready for this. These past few days, all he had wanted was to _know_. And now, now that the answers were waiting for them, he could see the same level of undecided dread reflected back at him in her expression.

They had to believe this was going to work out, though. He couldn't let that go.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand as they both rushed for the door.

"Drive safe!" Angela called after them, her voice an octave too high.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"No matter what happens in there, Bones," Booth said, as the elevator doors closed behind them. "I will love you. Forever. Okay?"

She nodded, her eyes dark and her complexion an unhealthy shade of pale.

"I love you," she whispered back, leaning into his side. "I will _always_ love you…"

The doors opened again, and she took a reassuring breath, squeezing his hand and then leading the way out.

"We're here to see Dr. Lee," she said at the window in the waiting room.

"Temperance Brennan?"

"Yes, that's me."

"I'll tell her you're here."

"Your doctor must really like us," Booth said, as the receptionist disappeared.

"I think we intrigue her," Brennan murmured back, trying to reassure herself that there would be good news at the end of this long wait they had endured.

The doctor herself came out to lead them down the hall, this time to a different examination room. Brennan tried not to let that panic her. Maybe the other room was just being used by someone else. Maybe because of the late hour of their meeting there was a different set-up. Maybe this was just a more convenient place to meet.

She held a folder, and Brennan's eyes landed on it, staring expectantly.

Dr. Lee handed it over, smiling softly. Booth's hand was on her shoulder, squeezing gently, but as she flipped it open and began to flip through the pages, the doctor answered the question for her.

"Your hCG levels are rising as expected, Dr. Brennan."

Her gaze snapped up. "They are?" she asked, her voice sounding too small for her own good. A hesitant smile twisted on her lips, and she turned to Booth with wide eyes, hardly daring to believe what she had just heard.

"From the tests that we ran, I can tell you that in all likelihood your pregnancy will continue as normal. Now, of course, you will have to continue to monitor…"

Whatever else she said was lost on Brennan, as she threw her arms around Booth's shoulders, trembling, her vision blurring. "We're going to have a baby," she choked out, a wave of warm disbelief shooting through her.

Dr. Lee was standing by, a patient smile on her face and a glimmer in her eyes.

Booth's eyes were swimming, too, when she pulled back enough to meet his gaze. And she laughed for no reason at all, shaking her head.

They were going to have their baby girl.

It was really going to happen. All of it. Everything they had been hoping for.

And she could hardly breathe through her joy.

**A/N: And there you go! I felt warm and fuzzy for hours after writing this, and I hope the feeling is mutual with all of you. Only a few more chapters to go, now! Everyone looking forward to tonight's new episode? I'm all caught up on this season, and I know I can't wait to see where this one takes us. Although I will be really furious with Hart and the rest of the writers if Brennan isn't put in danger at SOME point through this new serial killer story arc. Really, guys? No serious danger since Season 2? You're killing me. **

**But anyways, yes, only about three more chapters and an epilogue left to go. I'll be sad to see this story finished, but I think a little relieved as well. Although the idea of picking up Hidden after all this time is just a little scary...**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Welcome back everybody, and welcome to yet another Bones hiatus. Fanfiction will just have to tide us over, and the return of other shows from their winter breaks. We're getting closer to the end of this story! But have no fear... there is still plenty of angst to go around.  
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_Chapter 17_

_September 5__th__, 2011_

"I know it's probably still too early for this, but I want to suggest an idea for Thanksgiving," Angela said, placing her fork down and looking around expectantly at the three of them, gauging reactions. "I think it would be nice if we were to trade off. You know, one year Jack and I will host, and then the next it could be the two of you, and then Cam, maybe even Sweets… I mean, if everyone wants to do a big dinner."

"That actually sounds really nice," Booth agreed, nodding. He glanced at Brennan beside him, stunning in a red dress that proudly showed off her baby bump. She smiled back at him, turning to face Angela as she answered.

"It sounds like a lot of work, but I do enjoy the idea. I haven't really had a chance to have a large family Thanksgiving dinner in a… very long time. And Christmas that time a few years ago was nice."

Angela's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I have big plans for Christmas."

Hodgins chuckled. "Watch her. If she has her way, no one else will even get a chance to host at their place."

Angela cast him a reprising look. "Hey, can you blame me for wanting to start a tradition? 'The Hodgins-Montenegro Annual Christmas Eve Party…' It has quite a ring to it, right?"

Booth couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, it does, Ange."

"I'm doomed," Hodgins announced, and Angela punched him playfully on the shoulder.

The waiter dropped by, to ask them what they thought of their meals so far, and they all murmured their agreement over the quality of their dishes in unison, forks clinking as the champagne in the men's glasses was refilled, and the women's water was replenished.

It was a nice restaurant, far fancier than Booth would have guessed upon hearing the original suggestion for the evening out with their friends. This was the sort of place he would take Bones were he planning to propose, not the sort of place he normally would choose for a night out. The atmosphere spoke of special occasions, and while he had no ring and no plans, he had to admit it was befitting.

They had not formally celebrated her pregnancy, he realized. This night marked the joy that they all felt within them since the news had broken only days ago. Brennan was eating a healthy amount again, working regular hours and sleeping heavily. They were back to fretting about the small details rather than the large ones, back to their easy bantering and their long nights of laughter in the kitchen as they first worked together to cook and then fought soap-suds wars in the clean-up aftermath.

Things were the way they were supposed to be.

That was worth celebrating.

The night of the doctor's appointment, the night that it had been confirmed for them that her pregnancy was in the clear, they hadn't really talked about the days that had come before. A part of him had wanted to, worried about her and wondering if she wanted to share and get it all off of her chest now that their fears had been cleared away. But instead they had gone through baby books, looking at ideas for the nursery and once more delving into lists of baby names.

Amelia. Sophie. Teresa. Kaitlyn.

They were starting to narrow down, and Booth noted a pattern in the choices that she proposed. The simple, familiar names that she pointed out to him all spoke to her desire for their child to live a normal life. She, like he himself, was far from fond of her own first name. He had to agree that there were better options out there for their child than old-fashioned names or overly modern ones. There was a point when trying to make a child stand out worked just a little too well. She never said it, but he knew that she was taking into account how the name would be perceived by their daughter's peers when she grew up.

It was rational, and it was Bones. For once, he was one hundred percent behind the decision.

She tentatively explained to him, as they were flipping through the 'A' section of one of the dog-eared baby books she had gotten from her best friend, that she would like their daughter's middle name to be Angela.

The way she said it, though, was almost like she was afraid he would be opposed to the idea. He had kissed her warmly, and then murmured, "Perfect."

And truly, it was. That was another thing, that Angela and Jack would be the godparents. Both of them had been thinking it, so there was no trouble when he raised the topic. Who else would there be? Booth had very little family remaining, and while he loved his brother, he didn't see him enough. Sometimes he felt like he barely knew him. Then there was Max, who Booth had only been somewhat worried about. Bones agreed at once that Angela and Jack were the obvious choices, saying she had been thinking the same thing. Neither she nor him brought up the idea of her father, and they didn't discuss where he would belong in their daughter's life, either.

Max was an interesting person. While Booth knew without a doubt that he loved Brennan, and that he would be willing to do absolutely anything, inside and outside of the law, for her… he wasn't sure he would trust the man around their child. It wasn't that he wouldn't be capable of taking care of a baby, it was that he had failed Bones so horribly the first time around. Second chances were great, but Booth prescribed to them only in certain situations, with certain people. Max, unfortunately, was not one of those people.

For someone who claimed to be so protective of his family, Booth would love to know where he had been for those two days she had spent locked in the trunk of her foster parent's car. Perhaps seeing a movie? Working on the next con?

Yes, Max Keenan would be an issue down the road, when he no doubt appeared with the interest of seeing his granddaughter. Booth hadn't seen or heard from him since the bowling case. He wondered if Bones had even told him she was expecting. For now, though, he pushed aside those concerns.

They were out to dinner with friends. There was plenty of time to deal with family matters later; right now he wanted to sit here with his beautiful girlfriend, finish off a wonderful meal, and spend the evening free of all things related to murder and undercover drug ring takedown operations.

"When should we plan your baby shower for?" Angela was asking Brennan when Booth tuned back into the conversation at hand.

"I really have no idea. And… there's really no need for a party. Besides, it would be a rather small gathering if I was to have one. I don't have a long list of friends from college like you do."

Angela waved off her concerns. "Doesn't matter. Cam is looking forward to this. I am looking forward to this. I'm sure Shaw would love to attend. It will be quiet and enjoyable, and you will love it. Agreed?"

Brennan opened her mouth, closed it again, and then finally gave up and laughed. "Oh, fine."

Angela clapped her hands together. "How does next Saturday sound?"

She cast a look in his direction, and he shrugged. Sighing, she turned back to her friend. "I guess that will be fine. We don't have any plans, after all."

"No, but we should make some," Booth said suddenly, tipping his head to the side and reaching his arm out so it wrapped around her shoulders. "The weekend after that, maybe. We should get away, have some time to ourselves for a while, don't you think?"

"That's actually a great idea," Angela said encouragingly. "Once that little bundle of joy shows up in your lives… all of your free time just disappears. And your sleep, too. Gone."

"I don't remember the last time I slept through the whole night," Hodgins agreed with a nod. "Enjoy the peace while you can. But don't get me wrong," he turned to share a grin with Angela, "It's all worth it."

"I know," Booth agreed, grinning. It _was_ going to be worth it, no matter how hard it might get down the road. And he promised himself he would never regret even a single second of it. Not so long as he had Bones right by his side to go through it with him.

He squeezed her shoulder, and she smiled hesitantly at him before turning her attention back to her dish to take another bite of her meal. He knew that she was still nervous about this. Change was something she was admittedly not very good at handling. She had told him so herself. But so far, she had adapted pretty well to it. And she was ready. He was confident in that belief. She could do this, and she was going to be great at it, too.

"So what do you think of Shaw and Sweets?" Angela asked, dabbing at her lips with her napkin and glancing between the both of them with raised, curious eyebrows.

"They seem very compatible," Bones commented.

"Surprisingly," Booth added.

"I think they're adorable," Angela said pointedly. "For a while I thought he might end up with Daisy for life, and while they were good together in their own… quirky sort of way, I always felt like they were trying too hard."

"Not to mention she was impossible," Hodgins muttered. "Ow!" he added, shooting a look at his wife.

"Sorry. She was nice. And she tried so hard, it was kind of endearing."

Hodgins reached down to rub his wounded leg, shaking his head.

"Shaw and him seem to be getting along really well," Angela continued. "Who knows. Maybe we'll see another engagement in the lab sometime soon."

Brennan frowned. "They haven't even known each other for a year, Ange. And while Sweets is prone to jumping into situations, I think he learned a great deal from his dealings with Daisy."

Angela nodded her acknowledgment. "Good point. Still, though. I think he might have finally found somebody. Time will tell."

"He has come a long way since we first met him," Brennan said thoughtfully.

"The baby duckling is all grown up," Booth murmured, reaching for his glass of champagne.

"Yes he is," Angela agreed warmly, grinning. "And I think our misfit group of parents did a pretty good job of raising him."

"And probably messing him up pretty good, when you think about it," Hodgins pointed out. "You have to admit, a group of scientists teaching the kid how to investigate murders isn't the most conventional way to enter adulthood."

"Ah, but who ever said conventional was the best way to do anything?" Booth asked with the raise of an eyebrow, his lips quirked up in a grin.

"I can toast to that," Angela said, holding up her glass. The rest of them joined in, glasses clinking together.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"You know, sometimes I feel like we never grew up," Booth commented as he and Brennan let themselves into their home.

"That's illogical, Booth. You and I have built complex lives and had many adult experiences that would indicate otherwise."

He chuckled, knowing he should have expected that reaction. "I meant with the way the lab operates… it's like high school all over again. Out to dinner with friends, and there we are gossiping about the ones that aren't there with us."

She nodded slowly, a crease between her eyebrows. "I suppose that does fit the stereotypical high school situation. I personally never dealt with that experience in high school, though."

"Getting it first-hand, now, right Bones? And hey, we get to sit at the cool kids table together." He nudged her shoulder, grinning widely, before he helped relieve her of her coat.

"I would hardly refer to us as the cool kids," she said, but her eyes betrayed her amusement. She let him take the coat, resting her hands on her hips as she watched him hang it up in the closet for her. "You were a jock in high school, but the rest of us were what you would call 'nerds.' Diversity such as that would not fit into the culture that is cultivated in most teenage environments, which are rich with sub-cultures and undeclared rules that each member of the population, by definition, knows they must not break."

"And what if the high school itself was unconventional?" He challenged. "At the Jeffersonian… the best and the brightest are the popular ones. Tell me I'm wrong."

"In that context… the scientists in the top of their field would be sitting at the popular table. That would be myself, Hodgins, and Cam. Angela as well, if we were disregarding the significance of titles."

"You wound me, Bones."

She was getting interested in their hypothetical debate, now, though, and she regarded him thoughtfully.

"I'm not saying you aren't the best. I'm saying that, were the Jeffersonian a high school—which it is not—popularity would be determined by demand. I am in high demand for not only my own team but others as well. Other institutes want my consultations, television shows ask for my expertise… I believe that would be equivalent to colleges fighting over the best student athletes."

He nodded approvingly, impressed. They had these discussions every now and again. Scientific debates that he could actually follow. She had gotten good at accepting the constraints of the hypothetical situations, where once she would have turned her nose up at them and told him he was being silly because that would never happen. Now, she seemed to find them enjoyable. A challenge. And she had told him, not long ago, that she was excited that they could discuss her field and her interests together, rather than the usual situation where he listened—and comprehended very little—while she explained.

He was proud of how far she had come, and he loved her all the more with every small detail he noticed about how she had evolved along with him over the years. Her jokes could still be cringe-worthy, but they were also adorable. And they filled him with a sense of joy when he watched her happiness and the laughter that would glimmer in her eyes.

"In all likelihood, you would not be attending this Jeffersonian high school," she continued. "You would be at another school nearby." She smiled, her eyes lighting up, and she raised her eyebrows and said. "Hoover Academy?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "Sounds about right, there, Bones. Although a bit preppy. Academy?"

"Does institute sound better?"

He winced. "Yeah, let's leave it the way it was."

"If we continue with the analogy, though, you would be the top of the social pyramid at the Hoover school. The one sitting at the popular table with the other top agents."

"I'm trying to see how this is going to end with both of us sitting at the same table. Because I'm going to be disappointed if that doesn't work out."

"Oh?" she asked, stepping forward and placing her palms flat on his chest. He grinned wolfishly.

"Let me finish," she chided, though, and lithely stepped away. He followed her to the couch. "Let us hypothesize that for some reason, you were to get a transfer to the Jeffersonian."

"Somehow this sounds like a downgrade," he commentated.

She ignored the comment, casting him a warning look despite her smile. "At this new school, you are no longer on top. But, you possess many… _desirable_ qualities. And your new peers, while finding you to be an outcast and possibly resenting you—" he pouted, and she shoved his shoulder lightly "—also have to recognize that you are the best in your own field. And the… naturally curious head of the social pyramid at the Jeffersonian would be interested in seeing what that meant."

"Would she now?"

"Yes, she would. In this way… you would find yourself inducted into the new social network at the top of the pyramid. Courtesy solely of your new girlfriend, of course."

"Oh, so that's why, is it?"

She leaned in closer, her face only inches from his, and smiled temptingly. "Yes, it is. Problem?"

"Nope… no problem at all," he said, and captured her lips with his own.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_September 10__th_

As Brennan had predicted, the baby shower was a relatively small gathering in comparison to the elaborate and crowded party that Angela had held for herself. The only guests were Cam, Angela, and Shaw, but they all insisted it was better that way, as they had all attended over-the-top parties in the past, and found them tedious and headache-giving.

Brennan had declined when Angela had asked if she wanted to involve games, and so the women sat around and discussed babies, local schools, and stories from their own childhoods. Booth was out for the evening with Hodgins, who had gotten them box seats at a college football game.

The conversation turned to men as they were finishing their tea and cake.

"So what is this I hear about Sweets training as an agent?" Cam asked curiously.

Shaw smiled, "It's actually something he's been thinking about for a long time, now, but he's never gotten around to it. I think he's always been worried he might not be able to pull it off. And I'm not sure how I would feel about him running around, chasing criminals with a gun."

Angela chuckled. "And how does he feel about _you_ doing that?"

"Supportive, of course," Shaw acknowledged. "But he worries, even though he doesn't say it. I'm going to support him if this is what he wants."

"I think he could make a very adept agent," Brennan put in. "He possesses the necessary logic skills, and he is highly skilled at reading and understanding motives and intentions. Of course, he will need to improve his hand-eye coordination in order to master the arms test. Otherwise, they'll never let him into the field."

"He's been practicing," Shaw informed them, her eyes sparkling as she leaned forward. "He goes to the range a few times a week. I haven't been with him yet, but his scores… are pretty high up there. He knows what he's doing."

"I'm surprised Booth hasn't mentioned Sweets' interest in becoming an agent to me." Brennan said, setting down her empty cake dish on top of Angela's.

"Actually… he hasn't told Booth yet. Could you not tell him, either? I just… I know he's been waiting to bring it up, and Booth's support will be really important to him. So it would be better if he didn't know ahead of time."

Brennan nodded, but internally she wondered if Booth _would_ support Sweets' decision.

"I think it's about time that Bren opened her presents," Angela said, reaching forward to select a box from the top of the small pile.

"Oh, that one's from me," Cam said, straightening up in her seat and watching expectantly, her fingers tapping nervously on her lap as Brennan opened the card.

_I'm so happy for the both of you. Congratulations! _She had written on the inside.

Brennan smiled, setting it aside and peeling the wrapping paper away. It appeared to be a box set featuring plush toy animals. Two lions, a warthog, and what appeared to be a meerkat.

"They're from The Lion King," Cam explained. "It's a Disney Movie. It's in there, too, actually."

Brennan spotted the DVD behind the stuffed toys, and nodded. "It looks like a… cute movie. I was never really into animated films as a child, so I can't say I've seen it."

"Well, it's more for you and Booth at this point anyways. She won't be watching movies for a few years. I just thought I'd help you get started with a Disney collection. Michelle had one, when I was living with her back when she was a little girl."

"It's lovely. Thank you, Cam."

Cam smiled warmly back, and Angela was already handing over the next gift.

"Mine," Shaw said with a quick nod, when Brennan glanced towards her as she opened the envelope. There was no package attached, so she read the message of congratulations on the inside of the card and then turned her attention to the slip of paper that had been inside.

It was a gift certificate for a home surveillance company.

"So you can keep an eye on the baby if you have a babysitter, and so you can check in when they're older and getting home from school. And be alerted to burglars, of course."

"Thank you," Brennan said gratefully, lifting her gaze to meet the younger woman's. "This will be… _really_ useful. I appreciate it."

"And now mine," Angela said, having of course saved her own for last. Brennan laughed, accepting the box and raising an eyebrow as she realized how light it was. No card besides a tag that read _Brennan_, so she went straight to opening it.

Inside she found a paint tray and a thin piece of cardboard with Angela's flourishing script written across it. _I am painting your nursery. You do not have a say in this. Also, I just want to say that I always knew you and Booth would figure it out. Love you, sweetie. Congrats._

She looked up and met Angela's eyes. "I… wow. Thank you, Ange. I know she's going to love it." Cam was leaning forward to try to read what the gift was, so she explained what Angela was giving her to the group.

"Booth knew, didn't he?" she asked her friend.

Angela grinned bashfully. "Yeah, he did. I had to make sure you two didn't go ahead and start painting without me. And I'm really glad that it lined up this way, with my pregnancy being over in time for me to decorate for yours. I didn't get to paint Michael's room because of the fumes, so I just had Hodgins do a solid color and I'm going to go over it in a few years when he's grown up enough to tell me if he wants race cars or teddy bears."

"That works," Brennan agreed. "And I'm sure he will be appreciative."

"So what is Booth getting you for your birthday?" Angela asked, abruptly changing the topic.

Brennan cast her a glare, glancing quickly at the other two, who suddenly looked far too interested. "When _is_ your birthday?" Cam asked, as if she had only just now realized she didn't know. And for good reason; Brennan didn't advertise, and always struggled to keep Angela's excitement about the 'holiday' under wraps.

"We're going away, actually," she said, raising an eyebrow challengingly. _No party, Angela_, she thought firmly.

"A vacation," Shaw said. "That sounds nice. It's been forever since I've gotten away for anything other than visiting my relatives during the Christmas season."

"We aren't going far," Brennan explained. "We're just going to rent a cabin for a long weekend away. I didn't want to do anything big, and since he was being very… adamant about celebrating, I told him we should push back and extend our original plan to go away for a weekend. I told him no gifts."

"But he's not going to listen," Angela said, grinning mischievously. "I know it, you know it… might as well face the facts, Bren."

Brennan scowled. "I don't understand why he has to make such a big deal about it."

"Maybe because he's never gotten to celebrate it before and up until now you wouldn't even tell him when it was?"

"And when exactly is that?" Cam queried again.

"October eleventh," Angela answered, smiling triumphantly at her friend.

Brennan narrowed her eyes, seriously hoping they weren't planning on throwing her a party. There was something about her birthday that she had never enjoyed. The only one she could remember looking forward to had been her eighteenth, and that had not been a good experience. Freedom from the system meant many things. But it did not mean she had anywhere to go. All it meant was that now there were no other homes, and no more calls to her social worker. All it had meant was that she was living under someone elses roof, technically as an adult, trying to finish her final year of high school. It meant she had nowhere else to go. And her foster parents had known that.

For the first time, she found herself wondering if she should explain that to Booth.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Did you have a good time today?" Booth asked, settling himself down on the couch beside her and looping an arm around her shoulders.

"Yes, for the most part."

"For the most part?" he questioned. "Did Angela go overboard?"

"No, no… it was really nice. Quiet. I liked it. And the gifts were really thoughtful."

"Yeah, I saw," he said, nodding towards the table where the gifts were sitting. "I like the idea of having a security system in here. That was a good idea."

"Yes, I thought it was very thoughtful of Shaw. And Cam's gift was cute, although I'm sure it makes more sense to you than it did to me."

"Lion King?" Booth asked, his face lighting up. "Don't tell me… we're adding another movie to the list of what I must make you watch with me?"

She laughed. "Yes, Booth. We are."

He must have seen that her eyes didn't light up the way they normally would when he teased her, because his smile faded away and he regarded her curiously. "Is there something else on your mind, Bones?"

She hesitated, twisting her lips and wondering if she really wanted to bring it up. Finally, she decided to just explain. She wasn't about to tell him the whole story; it was long, and painful, and she didn't think she could even handle speaking the words. But he deserved to know, at least in part, why she had such a strong aversion to her birthday. And why she wished he wouldn't make a big deal out of the day.

"I don't want anything for my birthday, Booth," she said at last. "Please just… don't get me anything, okay?"

It could have ended there, had he simply accepted that. But he was Booth.

"What if I really want to, though, and I don't see any harm in it? You got me something for mine, remember?"

She remembered the small token; a coin from a pirate exhibit which she had purchased at a charity auction several years ago. He had seen it in her apartment and said he liked it.

"Sometimes, I just want to do something special for you. To celebrate. And I know you don't like your birthday, and a lot of people don't like their birthdays… but it's not all about turning another year older, or anything like that. It's just… an opportunity for me to show you how much you mean to me."

She blinked, almost forgetting her original thought process. How was it possible to love someone this much?

"My birthday… it has nothing to do with getting older." She said, shaking her head and getting back on track. "I mean, it does. But… my reason for not enjoying it has nothing to do with that."

He frowned, and she sucked in a sharp breath, her mind spinning and her gut churning. How to explain something like this to him, without leading him into further questions—the kind of questions she simply couldn't answer for him?

"When I first entered the system, I thought that by turning eighteen I would be able to get out." Realization dawned in his eyes, as he recognized that this was about foster care; about the teenage years she had always so very carefully avoided bringing up. "But when I reached that age, I realized that… things didn't work that way.

"I wanted to go to college; at the time it was because I wanted to become a science teacher. I had not yet narrowed down my exact career, but I always knew I wanted to go into the field. And that was something that couldn't happen without a degree. I had been living in the same house for two months, at the time, and so I figured I would just stay there until I graduated, and then move to a university. I was already working on applying to several, and I had a guidance counselor who was… very helpful at finding me scholarships."

She swallowed sharply, feeling his gaze boring into her even though she was focusing mostly on her hands.

"My foster father… was not a kind man." That was a light way to put it, and her fingers clenched together subconsciously. "They made me work harder, the moment I was officially aged out of the system. They weren't getting paid by the government to house me anymore, and so… they seemed to think that they could handle me however they wanted."

She chanced a glance at him, and found him staring right back at her, his gaze soft despite his stiff posture. His hands, too, were clenched in his lap.

"They locked you in the trunk of their car," he said. It was not a question.

She nodded. "Yes. At some point, they decided that I was… _ungrateful_ for what they had done for me." She spat the word, recalling the long days she had been made to clean every inch of their horrible home, and the nights… A shiver ran, unwelcome, down her spine. "They're punishments were unorthodox, like the trunk."

"There were others?" he demanded, his voice rough and furious.

She cut her eyes away from him, and nodded, beginning again hesitantly. "They would… lock me in the basement sometimes. If he was particularly angry… or drunk… he would put me in the old, broken refrigerator down there." She was silent for a moment, and then she said carefully, "I think they enjoyed it. Making me claustrophobic. Preying on that with each new punishment…"

"Bones," he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. "How did… how did you..?"

"I ran away," she admitted. "I…" she lifted her head and turned it up towards the ceiling, her eyes closed. She chewed her lip for a moment, working over the words in her head. "I lived on the street for a while," she murmured softly.

Booth cursed under his breath, and she winced.

"What were their names?" Booth demanded, a hint of desperation to his tone.

She shot him an alarmed look, and shook her head. "I don't… you aren't going after them, Booth."

"What they did to you…"

"They are serving their time," she said firmly. "I came forward, after I started school at Northwestern. All they had was my testimony, but by then they had taken in another foster kid, and they had all the evidence they needed in that case."

There was a long pause, while Booth seemed to be processing. "You probably saved that other kid's life," he said at last.

"Maybe," she said softly. _But I didn't save her from the worst of it._ "I didn't tell you this so you could… go seek revenge for me. Or so that you would… pity me, Booth. I told you because… I don't want you to make a big deal about my birthday. And I wanted you to know, because I don't want to have secrets from you."

She had more. Many more. But this was a start, and she was glad for it.

He nodded slowly. "What about our trip?"

"The trip isn't a gift from you to me. It is a gift to both of us, from both of us. And we need some time away. Plus… I find that it's nice to separate myself from the rest of the world, so I can forget. Doing that with you is just… a much better alternative."

He regarded her for a moment, and then pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry, Bones," he whispered into her hair. "For… everything that you went through. If I could change it… I would do anything."

She clutched him back just as tightly, but she shook her head. "It's over. It's… been over for a long time." Pulling back, she smiled tentatively at him, determined to lighten the mood. She felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she desperately wanted to make sure it had not landed squarely on Booth's instead. "I have you, now. And her," she added, carefully extricating his hand from their embrace and guiding it to rest on the swell of her stomach. "That's all that really matters."

He nodded in agreement, giving her one quick, gentle kiss.

"And if I decide to give you gifts throughout the year to make up for no birthday presents..?"

She laughed. "Then I can hardly stop you. Although I'd prefer if you didn't spend too much on me. And don't get me a car. I never understood those commercials that tried to portray that as a good financial decision."

He chuckled, "I don't think that will be a problem, Bones. Now, what do you say we watch Lion King and try to relax?"

"I say that sounds like a nice idea. So long as you don't sing. Angela gave the impression there was singing involved."

"Oh, baby, I am going to sing."

She groaned, laughing at the same time, as he pulled her to her feet with him and danced her around in front of the television screen, singing something about the 'circle of life' and replacing around half the word with indistinct humming noises.

**I don't own Lion King. Or Bones, for that matter. Big shocker, right? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and that you realize that I am back in college with a busy schedule and your feedback is only going to speed up my writing process to guarantee there won't be a sad lack of an update next week. *hint hint*  
><strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I apologize for my lack of an update last week, but my motivation sort of vanished when writer's block encroached on my personal space. I fought it down last night, though, and managed to finish this one off. It's pretty long, so I hope that makes up for the wait!**

**I still don't own them, sadly enough.  
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_Chapter 18_

_October 11__th__, 2011_

He had made breakfast for her every morning, so she wasn't surprised in the least when she slid out of the otherwise empty bed in the morning to find the smell of pancakes and bacon fresh in the air. In the kitchen, she found him humming happily to himself, hovering over the stove with a spatula in hand, and she took a moment to lean against the wooden door frame to observe.

The night before, the cabin had been warm with the fire going and the blankets curled around their bodies as they sat on the couch and traded the conversation back and forth between baby books and her latest manuscript. In the light of the new morning, though, a chilly wind had picked up outside and was whistling through the trees. The carpet was thin, and the rooms were cool despite the small fire he must have started when he woke up. He wore a bathrobe loosely around his shoulders, and she could see that he was wearing sweatpants underneath, but was willing to be that was his only attire at the moment.

At first, when they had arrived, she thought she might get bored with so much time away from work and the strict stipulation from him that casework was an off-limit topic. _"This is a vacation, Bones. Not a working vacation." _She realized now that she should not have worried, though: Booth was all the entertainment she could possibly need. He had brought along board games and a deck of cards, but the past few nights whatever they were doing tended to get forgotten as they got lost in their conversations and forgot all about whose turn it was.

In some ways, she felt like she was just meeting him for the first time. All these years getting to know him, and there was still so much to learn; there was so much of him left to explore. She knew he felt the same way about her. They talked like teenagers on a first date, popping questions at one another out of mere curiosity and often finding so much more behind them once the idea was sparked into the air.

Booth has asked her, at one point, about what her favorite toy had been as a child. Her first thought had been to say, as she had when Angela had posed this question, that she hadn't possessed a favorite toy. Or many toys at all, really. But truthfully, that wasn't the best answer. There had been a time before the microscopes and the dead animals.

"I don't remember much about it," she had told him, "But my father talks a lot about a Chatty Cathy doll that I enjoyed immensely."

From there he had told her about a signed baseball bat he'd had when he was twelve, and a toy soldier set he had found in the attic that Pops had played with when he was a child.

It was conversations like that which she found most enjoyable. There were rough patches in the timelines of the stories they were telling, but they stuck to the joyful parts of the experience. Found the happiness in the memories, with help from one another. She found it surprising, and she found that she couldn't imagine talking like this with anyone else. She had never, before Booth, lost track of time just talking. And never had someone else's company been all she needed for happiness. Not like this.

He caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye as he turned to get something from the refrigerator, and she smiled as he met her gaze. "Morning, Bones."

"Good morning," she echoed, stepping all the way into the kitchen to embrace him and give him a quick kiss. "You're up early today." Generally, thus far on their vacation, she had woken up to find him just starting their breakfast. Today, he looked close to finished.

He shrugged. "Hungry?"

"As long as that bacon isn't for me."

"It never is," he replied with a laugh, spinning away from her to take the eggs off the burner and dump them, half and half, into the two waiting plates. Toast already sat on each, and he handed hers to her with a gesture to the peanut butter and jam sitting in wait on the island. She accepted it graciously, picking up the butter knife he has set to the side and deciding on the jam.

She glanced up, spreading a thick glob of the jam onto her toast, as he collected the sizzling bacon to add to his own dish.

"So, what's the plan for today, my lovely Bones?"

She raised an eyebrow at the 'my,' in that sentence, but didn't correct him. It had become a common saying for him, and there was always a lightness in his voice. A gentle teasing that seemed to underline the heavier connotation. She was his, just as he was hers. And she had stopped correcting him on the lovely a while ago. Hard to argue when he had that charming air about him.

"Your turn, I think."

"And what was your turn, exactly?"

"I decided that we'd go to bed early last night."

"That doesn't… oh, fine. How about…" he paused, thinking to himself. "Well, we could make mac 'n' cheese for lunch."

"We did that Saturday," she reminded him. "When we got here."

"Doesn't mean we can't do it again," he said, wagging his eyebrows.

"I hope you aren't going to pass this down as your idea of 'healthy eating' to our daughter."

"Is that a yes?"

She laughed out loud. "Fine. It's a yes. My question is… what are we going to do the _rest _of the day? This is our fourth day away from work… I think you're running out of ideas."

"No, I think _you_ are," he said, leaning forward so their faces were only inches apart across the island.

"Oh, really? Then what are the rest of your brilliant plans?"

"Well, Bones… I was thinking how nice it would be if we actually got ourselves a summer home."

She raised an eyebrow. "Booth, you insist on being equal financially in how we handle our living situation. Don't you think it might be just a _little_ difficult to keep that up if we purchase another place?"

"It could be your Christmas gift to us?"

She shook her head at him. "You are unbelievable, you know that?"

He raised his hands defensively. "Alright. So maybe it occurred to me… that it might be a little upsetting. To you, I mean. Keeping your money to yourself like that."

"Oh?" she asked teasingly.

"Yes. So… I figured you would like… an opportunity."

"So this has _nothing_ to do with you wanting this for yourself?"

"Bones, you wound me. This is for our little Bones. And Parker. Besides… remember how I tried to convince you to get a place back when we found baby Andy? Hmm?"

"I remember. We can… look into it."

He beamed, and she chuckled. He fascinated her, sometimes. But she had to admit, she did like the idea. A getaway. A place that belonged to them, that they could escape to when the work got to be too much. A place they could bring their daughter when they felt the darkness of their world starting to close in, starting to reach into their lives, into the places that they never wanted it to see.

Yes, she agreed with him. A summer home might be a great idea. Knowing him, he was going to regret not contributing to the financial burden at some point, so she decided that, should she go through with his plan, she simply wouldn't tell him how much she paid. It would be easier that way. And, she reminded herself, had she bought a place _before _they got together, he would have had no trouble with enjoying the benefits now.

She would bring that up when and if he ever went back on his decision.

"When I asked about the rest of your plans, you know," she started, "I meant for _today_."

He grinned cheekily. "I know."

"Well, now that you've gotten your admittedly interesting, long-term plans out of the way… what _are_ your plans for us today? Outside of mac 'n' cheese," she added quickly.

He laughed. "Right. Outside of mac 'n' cheese. Hm."

"You don't have any, do you?"

"Not really, no. Looks like we're winging it, Bones, unless you've had something up your sleeve this whole time and have just been enjoying watching me fail?"

"I've got nothing," she conceded honestly, drawing her brows together. "Although winging it doesn't sound half bad. I do wish I was earlier along, though… we could go hiking." She glanced down at the admittedly large bulge of her stomach, wondering if hiking was an acceptable activity for a pregnant woman, specifically one who had already endured a threatened miscarriage.

"Hey, we make do with the limitations. Tell you what, why don't we go for a walk? Not too far, just to get outdoors for a while. There are a couple of trails that the guy we're renting this from told me about. We could check out one of the ones geared towards beginners."

She tried not to let show just how much that idea excited her. She didn't want him getting the idea that she was unhappy otherwise, which was only slightly true, but true nonetheless as far as he would be concerned. Pregnancy was limiting, she had discovered. She felt like she was always looking over her shoulder, always reading the fine print, and she could already see the ramifications ahead of her. She wondered how long it would take to get back in shape; back at top-notch with her martial arts skills, back to the firm body she had once possessed.

And then she considered to herself the rest of the details. How many times had she looked over a skeleton and informed Booth that the victim had given birth. Her own pelvic girdle was already widening in preparation. Those tell-tale signs would appear in her skeletal structure, just as the ones from the rest of her past would. A timeline of her life.

This was most likely the only positive mark that would be found, she reflected. She had broken bones, and there was scarring in places that she knew showed up on x-rays. All of that pointed to pain and suffering. This… this pointed to a better direction. A positive future.

She found that she enjoyed that thought a great deal.

The walk, as Booth had promised, was not a long one. Brennan was frustrated, though, by how easily she became tired, and when they returned to the cabin she was out of breath and in need of rest. In her eyes, Booth was the one who looked the worse for wear, though. He scrambled around, eyes wide and sweat on his brow as he doted over her despite her—admittedly only half-hearted—protests.

The dizzy spell came suddenly, when she attempted to stand up to get her slippers from across the room. Booth had gone to find her an ice pack in their luggage that she remembered packing but not unpacking, and when he returned he found her sitting on the edge of the couch, feeling shaky as she supported her head in both hands.

"Bones?"

"Stood up too quickly," she announced without looking up.

She could practically feel the worry that was radiating off of him.

"Dizziness?" he demanded, crouching down in front of her so she had really no choice but to lift her eyes and meet his. She nodded, and he frowned. "And… is that it? Just the dizziness? No back pain, no cramps..?"

"None of that," she reassured him. "And no bleeding that I can tell. I just suddenly felt really dizzy. It's probably from the exercise and the fresh air, combined with my sudden shift in equilibrium… what are you doing?"

He was no longer listening to her, but was instead hitting buttons on her phone. She reached to take it back from him, but he paid no attention. "I'm calling your doctor," he said simply.

She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that he was being overprotective and that she had a logical explanation, but then she let it snap shut again. Was she really sure of anything? _Could_ she be sure of anything? She was not an expert; this was not her field of study. And so far, she had proved to be highly uneducated in the subject. Despite her confidence that this was okay, that it was nothing to worry about, his fear got to her, and she found herself nodding.

He was right.

Better safe than sorry.

Although, she pondered, what choice did she really have in the matter? She remembered the haunting words that her doctor had spoken not so long ago. If the miscarriage began… there was really nothing they could do to stop it.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Genny Shaw was honestly sick and tired of the undercover life. A few weeks ago, she had felt the strain. But now it seemed like a steady expansion in her chest; the weight was growing and dragging her down gradually, day by day. She wondered helplessly, at points, how the other girls did this for a living.

Her job, for certain, was not nearly as difficult as theirs. She was, as many of them put it: _just _a server. She wore the skin-tight sequence-covered outfits and the heavy makeup. She curled her hair and let one of the other girls, who claimed her name to be Tracy outside of her stage name of Glimmer, do it up every night in a fancy but 'sexy' swirl. Glimmer was one of the dancing girls, though. One of the ones that got called away from delivering drinks to the seating area so she could climb up on stage with the others for one of the nightly shows.

Shaw pushed back the bile in the back of her throat as she remembered the first night she had worked there. The cliental was not high class. They were young and old, but all of them wore the same kinds of slimy expressions and fancy jackets. To her, they were all the same, one and all. In her time, she had been clubbing plenty of times, but she had never been to one like Blue Fish.

Then again, she had never been out clubbing during the weekdays. The weekend was remarkably different, with a college atmosphere. She wore a red vest and her hair up in a neat ponytail on those days, still hiding behind the thick mask of makeup but otherwise feeling more like herself. The guests were a more even mix of women and men, and they mingled appropriately, more interested in picking each other up than running their eyes over the servers and the dancers who just swayed on the stage to the thrumming music.

That was another thing. She was certain her hearing would never be quite the same. It reminded her, honestly, of the summer in high school when she had worked at Abercrombie & Fitch, and had been forced to shout when asked a question by a customer. It should have been in the job-description: _must possess strong vocal chords and night-vision_.

The longer she spent there, the longer she felt like the place was wearing on her, though. Lance had even noticed the shift, asking with greater frequency about how she was handling the job. She always waved him off, insisting that she was fine and that it just made her tired after spending the whole night on her feet in ridiculous heels. For the most part, he bought it, but recently she could see the doubt more plainly on his face. He was starting to get the idea that she was not doing as well as she claimed.

She honestly had no idea what she was going to tell him when he finally voiced all of the concerns that she had been watching build up in his eyes. It wasn't like she could quit this job, no matter how much good that would do for her. This was something that she had to see through until the end; for the sake of the FBI and for hers as well. She was not a failure. She was not the kind of person who gave up.

On days like this one, though, she couldn't deny considering the idea.

She got home from a long night at work feeling more drained than usual, having gotten barely any sleep the day before. Sweets was waiting for her, and for the first time she found herself irked by his presence. She was tired of worrying about him being worried about her, and she was sick of being worried about herself. As if she were slipping off of a cliff, she felt the shift inside of her, pulling her away. Was it not enough, what she was doing for the FBI? At first, taking this task had seemed like such a good idea. Finally, there was something she could do that would make a difference. Something beyond showing up at crime scenes only to be told to talk to the neighbors. This was supposed to be a change for her, the sign that her bosses trusted her and believed she was capable of so much more. The lack of Booth's support at first had been crushing. He was the best agent in the FBI, as far as she was concerned. Hacker seemed to agree on that, too, from what she had seen of what Booth was allowed to get away with and the way he seemed to be able to choose his own cases and handle them as he saw fit with barely any intervention. She wanted that someday; a team of her own and the lead on investigations.

Only, things were no longer following that perfect plan which she had formed in her head. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. It no longer felt like this investigation was going anywhere. In fact, it was beginning to feel like this was her new life; a server at a scummy club who was barely getting by, living in a too-small apartment and finding her only solace in imaginary video-game landscapes with a boyfriend she was starting to feel like she barely knew.

It was tough, not being herself. It made her wonder; who was she, if she was supposed to be these two very different people at the same time? What if she didn't like who she was when this was all over?

"Good morning," Sweets said, and she tossed her coat over the back of the couch, not even bothering with the closet.

She shrugged in response, and headed towards the bedroom. He trailed after her.

"Long night?"

"Yes," she said tightly, hoping that would discourage him. He leaned against the doorframe as she stripped off her high heels and the fishnet stockings that had been a part of tonight's attire.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

For a psychologist, he really couldn't take a hint. Or he was overriding his other judgment out of his misguided attempt to try and 'make things better' for her. Since working with Booth and Brennan, she had come to learn a lot about things between the partners and Sweets. And along the way, she had learned—mostly through Brennan—of his past with them, and how he had sometimes intervened in the wrong places. She had been perhaps a bit too nosey in these instances, digging deeper and—surprisingly—getting actual answers in response.

Sweets, she now knew, had a tendency to get too invested. As Booth put it, he liked to meddle in the personal lives of others. She liked him, she really did… but she was starting to see the truth to that. He was kind, and there was something adorable about the way he stumbled over his words. She liked the sheepish smiles he gave her when he ran out of things to say, and the way his hair curled across his forehead. Through all of that, he was trying. He was trying really quite hard, and it hurt her to admit it… but she thought maybe he was trying _too_ hard.

Shaw did not consider herself to be an expert on relationships. Far from it. But she could tell that this wasn't going to end well if he didn't learn how to give her space and how to stop being so panicky and… well, clingy.

"I think I'd like some time to myself," she said bluntly, finally coming up with words to express exactly how she was feeling. And that was it, plain and simple. Time alone—why had it taken her so long to figure out that was what she needed? More than just a few moments. She needed a few days where she could simply crash and figure things out. Gather her thoughts, figure out what she was doing and what she wanted to be doing when this case finally, eventually, came to its conclusion.

He was frowning in typical confusion, as though her words were foreign to him.

"What?"

She sighed, tipping her head back as her hands lifted automatically to find a comfortable resting place on her hips.

"Give me a few days, alright, Lance? Go… back to your own place for a little while."

"For… for your cover, though…" he said, sputtering helplessly, looking for excuses.

Her exterior crumbled a little, but she held her head high. She had never been a woman who let men run her life. When she wanted something, she was going to get it. And then she was going to feel guilty as hell for days, maybe hate herself a little bit and drown her feelings in ice cream before succumbing to that guilt as well and going overboard on the treadmill and the punching bag… but in the end, she was going to do what she knew was best for her. That was who she was.

"That's work," she said simply. "I will see you… for work."

His frown was only deepening, his mouth hanging open somewhat and his eyes filled with more questions than she could answer. He only voiced one, though, and it was the one she had been expecting.

"Are you breaking up with me, Genny?"

Gratified that this question was easy, at least, she shook her head. "No, I'm not. I just need to have some space for a while. This case is a lot of work, and I think that mixing my personal life into it is really just _not_ helping matters."

"So this is… what, then? A break?"

She softened. "Yeah, Lance. A break. When this case is over, though…"

He nodded. "When this case is over," he repeated, turning away.

Why was it that those words no longer held the same promise they used to? Why was it that it sounded almost as though this case… might never end?

She let herself consider, shivering slightly as she heard the door of her apartment close behind him, if there was a light still shining at the end of the tunnel. Because she had certainly lost sight of it, and with a sigh she dropped heavily onto the edge of the mattress.

There would be another long night ahead of her, all too soon.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"There was really no reason to come back early," Booth said as they set the last of their luggage down inside of the house.

Brennan shrugged. "I know that. But… we have obligations here. And if anything should happen, I don't want to be far away from medical professionals."

He couldn't argue with that. Dr. Lee had been reassuring over the phone, promising that dizziness was an expected symptom of any pregnancy, and that the real warning sign would show itself if the bleeding started again. With Brennan's confirmation that she had not had any cramps or signs of bleeding since they had faded after that first panicked appointment, Booth had been willing to relax.

That was easier said than done, when it came down to it. Brennan was ready with her logic and her reassurances, but all of it went straight over his head when her fear was just as palpable as his own. It was there, in her eyes, in her posture, in the pale complexion on her face and the line of sweat beading her brow. She was just as scared as he was, although this time she wasn't admitting it. He wasn't pushing, though, realizing that this time she needed to be reassuring; she needed to be the rock out of the two of them. He wasn't going to question that and tear down her rationality to expose the dark, cold weight of terror that they both had in common.

He bustled through the house, moving the suitcases to their bedroom, and she drifted away down the hallway. He didn't question it, focusing on his task and knowing that she would come back and insist on helping in only a few moments. She was probably going to look to see what they could salvage into a dinner, and his mood brightened at the thought. They had gotten cut short from their macaroni 'n' cheese, having been forced to settle for greasy takeout food on the drive home, and he was looking forward to getting his promised meal for supper. He would even go out and get any ingredients they were missing, if necessary.

"Booth!" she called, and his head snapped up at once. He dropped the stack of his jeans that he had just pulled free of the squished suitcase contents and headed for the hallway. She was not upset, nor was she panicked. She was merely calling him to come to her, and his curiosity was piqued. Maybe she had discovered that they didn't have enough macaroni in the cupboard?

But she wasn't in the kitchen, and as she called again, he followed her voice up the staircase to the room at the top, where he found her standing in the door, hands pressed to the noticeable bump of her stomach, a smile planted firmly on her face.

"Look," she said simply, head tilting towards the room as she stepped out of his way.

He remembered, in a rush, that they had given Angela a key so she could get to work on her baby shower gift. The nursery, when he stepped in, was nothing like the room they had left behind before embarking on their mini-vacation. The walls were a soft pastel green with white trim, and tall blades of grass in a darker shade had been painted around the entire length. There were oversized butterflies and ladybugs, all slightly unrealistic in their cuteness and the brightness of their colors. Two decorative flower-shaped rugs were on the floor, one in front of the crib and the other by the door where he stood now. The ceiling was baby blue, with puffy white clouds shaped like various animals and objects. He spotted what was clearly a bunny rabbit near one shaped like a toy airplane.

"Wow," he said softly, taking it all in.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" Brennan said softly, a warm prideful edge to her voice. _My best friend_, her words seemed to say, and Booth grinned at her. He owed Angela for this, and he knew it.

"It's perfect," Booth said simply. "Absolutely perfect…"

Brennan drifted further into the room, and stopped in front of a blank section on the wall, an area that had not been closely filled with plants or animals or cute insects. Booth stepped closer as well, and noticed that the picture frame hung in the center of the space held a note.

_"Space Reserved," _Booth read with a short chuckle.

Brennan's eyes were alight with recognition. "She mentioned something… she's waiting on the baby's name, Booth. So she can do something special."

He nodded. That was Angela, through and through. "Looks like we're going to have to work on helping her out with that one, aren't we, Bones?"

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_October 25__th__, 2011_

Booth stood in the center of the Jeffersonian lounge, arms crossed, watching the others settle into the couches and chairs at the center. The dull buzz of the platform activity below made for calming background noise.

Shadwick was being arrested today; possibly at this moment. Hacker had picked out the team, combined with two or three members of Culver's own, and Booth had been offered a lead. He had turned it down, though, telling Hacker that he would be there for the interrogation and even take lead on that part of the investigation, but he would not go on the raid.

Hacker had needed no explanation. None was really needed, with how obvious Brennan's pregnancy now was. She was showing to an extreme, and he couldn't remember when he had first realized it. To him, it seemed that at one moment she had been as thin as always, and then the only in between had been a soft roundness to her waist.

Booth wasn't going anywhere; he was determined to prove that to her. He had seen far too often the things that could go wrong out of a simple arrest. The risks were too great. He wasn't going to put them through that, and put the livelihood of the family they were building together at stake. No, he would wait until Shadwick was arrested and then move forward with his own specific brand of investigative style. He would get the same results, without the leg-work. Besides, he was a senior agent in a large-scale operation. He had the luxury of turning down an offer like that one.

"Hacker has to take Shaw out of the field, now, right?" Angela asked after a lull in the conversation. It was clear she had been contemplating the question for a while now, and her brows were drawn together seriously as she glanced around at the group and finally focused on Booth, seeking her answer.

The young agent had grown on all of them. They were worried about her.

He found that he was, too.

"Ultimately, Hacker will make the call."

"Which means she stays in the field," Angela said flatly, eyes flashing.

"Most likely," Booth admitted after a beat.

"He's going to get her killed," Hodgins reasoned, shaking his head, blue eyes wide.

"Agent Shaw is very competent," Brennan pointed out, but there was a hesitation in her voice, and Booth knew that she felt some of the concern that they were all sharing. Shaw's competence wouldn't do her an ounce of good if the drug lords she was pitting herself against figured out why she was actually there, in the middle of their operation.

"The raid is going to happen soon, possibly even tomorrow," Booth offered. "And once we begin the full-on prepping for that, Shaw will be taken out of the situation for certain."

Angela nodded, but she wasn't completely satisfied. Booth wasn't either, honestly, but it was the best he had at this point. It was all they could work with.

They had invested too much in Shaw's involvement to pull out too early. He understood that, in a way that the squints might not. But he also saw it from their perspective, worried about the safety of someone they considered a friend.

He wondered what Sweets thought of all of this, and tried to imagine Brennan going undercover, at a club, without him, for several months. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought, and he found himself stepping closer to her without ever deciding to move. He would not be okay with that; not in the least.

"So what do we have on Shadwick, to prove he's the killer?" Cam said, garnering everyone's attention. She was trying to give them a fresh focus, to keep them on point, and Booth recognized this and took her lead.

"We have the footage of him entering Kaminski's apartment."

"Yes," Angela agreed. "And with the arrest you'll be serving the search warrant, right?"

The warrant had gone through a day later than expected, but ultimately they had held off for the extra time in between then and now because of Culver's intuition that they needed more time to get info from Shaw, without having Shadwick go skittish on them. So they had held off now for what Booth considered to be far too long, and they had gained very little fresh intel from Shaw's efforts. The cloned cell phone had told them several things, though, in the interim, and this was not something he could deny.

Two weeks ago, they had learned the location of one of the warehouses being used as a storage facility. Culver had quickly taken the initiative on that one, setting up surveillance and looking into the history of the place and the area. Then, last night, they had made the connection to two other warehouses, and a trucking company. Culver had what he wanted.

And now they were bringing in Shadwick, to find out what they could from him, and charge him with the murder they believed he had committed.

This was the longest murder investigation he had worked, besides those which remained cold to this day. He was relieved to think that it might be coming to a close at long last.

"Yeah, they'll search his house when they arrest him," Booth confirmed for Angela. "The odds of him still having the laptop are limited, though. He probably destroyed it immediately, or erased it and sold it on the street."

"If he's smart, then it's been destroyed. No matter how thoroughly you think you've deleted something… it lives inside that computer forever. You get that laptop, erased or not… I'll pull up everything that has ever been on it," the artist said.

Booth nodded. "If luck is on our side."

"So, beyond that, what have we got that can nail him on the murder?" Wendell probed, speaking up for the first time.

"Not too much," Booth said honestly, looking around and finding only unfortunate agreement on the faces of his coworkers. They really didn't have much in the way of proving Shadwick's guilt in the murder. There was no evidence from the scene that pointed to him. In fact, a lot of it, namely the stabbing and the undressed state of the victim, still pointed to a female killer. At the very least, though, Shadwick had been there in the aftermath. He had seen the body when he was stealing that laptop; there was no way he could have missed it. So, someone had beat him to the task, then. Because surely he hadn't expected to get the laptop without a fight, and from the surveillance it didn't look like he was worried about whether or not Kaminski was home.

Had he thought Kaminski was out, for some reason or other?

Or had he known that the man on the inside of the apartment was dead? And if that was the case… then how had he known?

"It's possible he didn't actually do it," Hodgins pointed out, speaking Booth's thoughts for the group. "Sure, he's got motive. But he doesn't seem to have a knife with him, going in or out of the apartment in that footage. And why the hell was Kaminski practically naked?"

"Maybe Shadwick walked in on something," Angela suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"If that's the case, then where did the other person go?" Wendell asked.

"We did have a theory, early on, about a rope off of the balcony," Brennan remembered, but her tone was that of a skeptic.

"That is a possibility, but then she would have had to climb up that way, too," Cam noted. "Every visitor to that apartment can clearly be seen entering and leaving before the next arrives. None of them encountered each other."

"Well, who were our other suspects, then, if we think Shadwick is innocent? Of the murder, at least. We all know he's guilty of the drug trafficking." Wendell again.

Booth did a mental rundown. "Tania Averitt, she was the married one. Anna Hardwick, the one that was crying in Selena's apartment. Liz Parish, the newest girlfriend. Taylor Madison, the one night stand. Wayne Falkner, the angry coworker." He ticked them off on his fingers. Five in total, although he was pretty confident that they could get rid of Falkner, who seemed to just generally dislike him rather than want him dead. That, and he was the only male suspect and they seemed to be looking for a female.

"Kaminski was a reporter," Angela started. "Tania had the most to lose if he brought her infidelity to light."

"True, but Liz and Anna were both heartbroken," Booth pointed out.

"And Taylor was present the day of the murder, within the timeframe," Cam reminded them.

Booth nodded, conceding her point. "We still need a motive, though. Jealousy? Regret?"

"Passion," Hodgins posited, grinning. Angela shot him a look.

"What if one of them was hired to kill him by the drug lords?" Wendell suggested suddenly.

All eyes turned towards him. "So one of them would be an actress, playing the role of innocent while planning to kill him the whole time they were dating?" Hodgins said, his eyes lighting up.

_Conspiracy theorist,_ Booth thought with an amused shake of his head.

"It's not impossible," Cam said thoughtfully. "They did raid our lab, steal all of our evidence, and get away practically unscathed."

Booth's gaze flicked towards his partner. _And nearly killed Bones in the process,_ he thought privately.

"That's true," Angela agreed.

"Taylor makes the most sense," Hodgins was continuing. "She works for them already! She's like the family hit-woman. She just swoops in, gets him interested, and then lets him take her home with him. And then… BAM! She kills him."

"Except for the fact that the drug lords want her dead," Booth said flatly.

Hodgins went silent. "Damn you and your logic," he muttered.

"In Taylor's position, Kaminski's story works out in her favor. She was unhappy with her situation, but like most girls in that line of work, unable to get away for fear that they would suspect she knew too much and kill her, her family, or all of them. If Kaminski pulled it off, she would have gotten away and had the chance to start over," Cam said.

"So she found the body," Booth agreed, following their logic. "And then..?"

"She panics," Hodgins picked up, "Checks to see if he's alive, but he's not. She considers calling the police, but she barely knows this man. He asked her to his apartment one time. She doesn't want to be charged with the crime and she certainly doesn't want to put a spotlight on herself."

"So she decides it's better to leave, and takes off," Wendell put in.

"Which is when Shadwick arrives and takes the laptop," Brennan finished.

"Alright," Booth said. "So Kaminski is dead when Taylor arrives. Who was there right before her?"

Angela went to get her laptop, and they crowded around the table to watch as she played through the footage. Liz arrived first, staying the longest before departing at five o'clock. And then Tania rounded the corner and let herself in. Ten minutes later, she was gone. After that, Taylor arrived, and Angela stopped the footage.

"Tania," the artist said definitively. "Ten minutes… that's plenty of time to commit murder. And she's wearing dark clothing. There's no way to tell if there's blood on it with this poor resolution."

"And Taylor got no answer when she knocked," Cam added. "She got the key from under the mat."

"So we bring in Tania?" Brennan queried.

Booth phone was ringing in his pocket. _Sweets_.

"Booth."

"Shaw isn't at her apartment," Sweets said without preamble. "She's not working, and she didn't leave a note."

"When was the last time you saw her?" Booth demanded, turning to put his back to the others. They were silent, though, and he knew they had picked up on the anxious note in his voice. They knew something had happened.

"I… I don't… yesterday, I think. She sort of called for a break with us, and I haven't been around here much since, and so I didn't think anything was off when she didn't call, because she _hasn't_ been calling, and I haven't been visiting, only I didn't hear from her for her work report like I'm supposed to, since she said our professional relationship hadn't changed, and—"

"Hey, easy. Slow down, Sweets."

"She's _gone_," Sweets said loudly. "Booth, something's happened to her. I just… I can feel it, okay?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm at her apartment. And I'm telling you, it looks perfectly normal, only she's not _here_, and she should be…"

"I'll be right there," he said, and hung up. The others were staring wide-eyed when he turned back to face them.

"Sweets thinks Shaw is missing," he said darkly. For the life of him, he hoped that this was Sweets overreacting. But somehow, he knew that he wasn't.

He had that same feeling in his gut that Sweets had just explained.

Something was very wrong.

**Don't make me beg, people. Just hit the button... :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Hi everyone! Miss me? I know, I know, I haven't updated anything since... well, early February. I never intended to abandon this story, but then the wall of writer's block crashed down on me along with a lot of intense school-related stuff. But the delay was not permanent, as I have returned! I can't promise you an update next week, as finals are just around the corner, but I can promise that this story will now be finished in a timely manner. **_  
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**What are you waiting for? Read onwards! (Oh, and I don't own anything. Except maybe Culver.)  
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_Chapter 19_

_October 25__th__, 2018_

"Booth! _Booth!"_ he slowed and looked over his shoulder. Bones was struggling to catch up with him, and he pulled to a halt and stepped back to meet her.

"You aren't coming with me," he said firmly, offering no room for argument.

Her eyes were sparkling, moisture building in the corners. Her hair had fallen loose from the ponytail, hanging in loose strands down the side of her face. "I know that," she agreed without argument. "I just… _Booth…_ be careful. _Please_."

"Hey," he soothed, brushing her hair back and tucking it gently behind her ear. His hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb gently stroking along her cheekbone. "I'm coming back, Bones. I'm going to go get Sweets, figure out what's going on… and then I'll be right back here. We're going to figure out where Shaw is before we do anything drastic. Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay." But there was a fear, pallid across her features and swimming in her eyes. He swallowed sharply, and let his hand drop reluctantly away.

"I have to go, Bones."

"I know," she murmured. There was a hesitation, and then she reached up to wrap her arms around his shoulder, giving him an awkward embrace around her pregnant stomach. He pressed his lips to hers, and then stepped back and brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips.

"I love you, Bones. I'll be back soon."

"Love you, too," she said quietly.

Then Booth turned away and went to his SUV. He watched her out the window as he pulled away, and tried to stave off the fear that he now shared with her.

_I'm coming back, Bones. I promise._

He called Hacker on the drive over, but kept it short to keep his anger from bursting.

Sweets was pacing when Booth arrived, and there was a second FBI vehicle parked out front. Culver had arrived, along with three other agents, and they were still sweeping the apartment, keeping an eye on Sweets to ensure he didn't disturb the scene in his panic.

"Hey, kid," Booth said, putting himself in the younger man's path. Sweets pulled to a stop and met Booth's eyes with his dark, wide gaze.

"They can't find anything," he said immediately. "They… there's _nothing_ here, Booth. No proof of… _anything_. But she isn't responding to my messages, my calls go straight to voicemail… and she isn't here! She isn't anywhere."

"Right now, you need to calm down," Booth told him firmly. "Because freaking out… isn't going to help her, or anyone else. We're going to go back to the lab, and go through what we know. Let the lab techs sweep the place, let the other agents gather what they can and fill us in."

"But…"

"We're going to find her, Sweets. And believe me… I get it."

God if he didn't get it by now. How many times, he wondered, had he been in the shrink's shoes, facing this exact situation? How many times had he been forced to picture the world with Brennan missing from it, because she was gone without a trace, god knows where, and he had barely anything to go off of?

Twice was more than enough, but there were other instances, less long-term, but just as painful. Shot in the arm. Stabbed in the arm. A hit put out on her by gangsters. These were things he was never going to forget.

Sweets seemed to understand some of what he was trying to convey, because he nodded and then reluctantly followed Booth out of the apartment, glancing several times over his shoulder before they were out and on their way down to Booth's SUV.

"When was the last time you spoke to her?" Booth demanded, once he had slammed his door shut behind him and pulled them out into traffic.

"Two nights ago," Sweets answered shakily. "Well… no, she called me briefly yesterday. But all she did was confirm that she was back from work. That's what she's supposed to do… call in to tell me that she's home, and that there's nothing new to report. Because there never is," he added bitterly.

"We're going to find her," Booth assured easily. "First, though, we have to figure out how her cover was blown."

"You… you think that's what happened, then?"

"Yes, I do. There's really no other explanation."

Sweets' face went pale, and he slumped in his seat. He was uncharacteristically quiet for a long time, until they were nearly at the Jeffersonian.

"She's dead," he said at last, his voice flat and emotionless.

"We don't know that," Booth said, his voice tight. But he felt it, too. And logic was backing up the gut instinct. Shaw was missing, without a trace. They had taken her, possibly before she even had the chance to get inside. Chloroform, a needle, maybe even a sharp blow to the neck. Something that wouldn't leave behind blood evidence. Something that wouldn't give her a chance to fight back. They had gotten her unconscious, and then taken her with them.

After that… well, after that they would handle the problem cleanly, and dispose of the evidence with the same thoroughness they had already displayed in their previous clean-up missions. She was dead, and they weren't going to be finding her body.

He glanced at Sweets as he pulled into his parking space in the Jeffersonian garage. He was quiet, contemplative and haunted-looking. He got out mechanically when Booth cut the engine.

There was one other option, but he chose not to voice it. Sweets didn't need to hear his theories. That wasn't going to help anybody.

Inside, Angela hugged Sweets while Cam took one look at his face and shot an alarmed and questioning look in Booth's direction. He looked away, and immediately located Bones coming out of her office.

"Cam, I want you to double security on this place," he said, before she was in ear-shot. He moved so his back was to the others. "Don't let her go off alone," he said in a low murmur. "Or anybody else that's worked this case, for that matter. And if she's ready to leave, you make sure she calls me. Do _not_ let her call a cab or anything like that."

His friend nodded, her eyes flashing as she took in the seriousness she found in his expression. "I've got it, Seeley."

She disappeared to her office, and Booth turned to greet Bones, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Her hair smelled sweet, like vanilla and lavender.

"What do you think?" she asked him, pulling out of his embrace and tilting her head as she took in the ghost that was Sweets.

Booth shook his head. "We'll talk later," he promised. Then he turned to address the group as a whole. "Alright, everybody. Top priority right now is to find out where Agent Shaw has been taken. We don't have a timeline, and apparently no material evidence. So… I need everyone to work a little out of their element, here. We're going to be looking at other evidence to try and figure out the most likely place they would go."

Hodgins opened his mouth and then shut it again, cutting his eyes nervously towards Sweets. It was obvious that no one was going to be comfortable producing theories with the distraught psychologist in their presence. He remembered how everyone had shrank away from making frank, logical deductions about Brennan's previous disappearances when he was in the vicinity.

"Wendell, why don't you take Sweets up to the lounge. He looks like he could use some coffee," Booth suggested.

Sweets looked up, keen to protest, but then gave in without much of a fight as he took in everyone's expressions.

Once he was gone, Hodgins asked in a low murmur, "Are we looking for a dump spot?" It was the question no one else had wanted to voice, but the one that they had all been thinking. Angela cringed away from the idea, but the fear in her eyes told Booth that she was having the same thought.

"Possibly," he admitted.

"Or not," Cam said, joining the group. They spaced out to make room for her, and she stood there with her arms crossed and met Booth's eyes darkly. She had arrived at the same conclusion as he had. "If they know that Shaw is FBI, and that she has been spying on their operation…"

"They're going to want to know how much she's got on them," Hodgins deduced, his eyes widening even further.

"Oh, God," Angela whispered.

Brennan was serious. "They will torture her to find out what she knows. These are not the sort of people who will hesitate. And eventually… she will tell them."

Booth felt a chill run down his back, and he came to the unwelcome realization that she was speaking from experience. There was too much certainty in her tone for something that she would normally consider to be merely a hypothesis. This was not guesswork on her part. _Bones, what happened to you?_

Now was not the time to ask. He knew she was right. She was not alone in her experience.

"We need to find out when she was taken," Booth said.

If they were confident they would not be found, there was a chance she could be alive for anything up to a week before they ultimately killed her. How long would she last, though, before she gave up and told them what they wanted to hear?

He didn't want to think about it.

"For now, we assume she's alive," he said definitively.

"Alright," Cam agreed, "So what do we know, timeline-wise? When's the last time Sweets spoke to her?"

"Yesterday she checked in after she got back from work, like normal. And today she didn't, so he got worried. When she didn't respond to any of his messages and he couldn't get her on the phone he went over to check on her himself, and found that she wasn't there."

"Okay, so we have a 24-hour time lapse in which she could have gone missing."

"Longer," Booth corrected. "She should have arrived home from work at around four a.m. Sweets didn't receive the update, but he wasn't concerned until later that morning, when she hadn't yet responded to his texts. He thought she was asleep up until he got too worried and went to check on her about…" he glanced at his watch, "An hour ago."

"Anytime between yesterday at four and today at eleven," Brennan said.

Booth nodded. "Exactly."

"Does her building have security cameras?" Angela asked.

"The footage is being sent over to you as we speak," he assured, nodding in her direction.

They were in charge of this investigation; it had been Booth's insistence when he had called Hacker. His team had more knowledge on this matter than any other unit at the FBI. They were involved in the investigation which had led to Shaw's kidnapping. They could handle this, and handle it properly.

Hacker really hadn't been given another option, honestly. Booth hadn't been planning on taking no for an answer.

"You think they would have taken her to one of their warehouses?" Hodgins suggested.

"It's a possibility that I've already mentioned to Hacker," Booth said with a nod. "He's organizing some task forces, now. We know about three warehouses that are a part of the operation, but the problem is that there have to be more. There's no telling how many are a part of their operation."

"But it's likely that they would take her there, correct?"

Booth nodded. "More likely than not, yeah. It's just a matter of finding the right warehouse."

Angela was pulling up a map on the large screen monitor. Booth pointed out the buildings that they were already sure of, and she highlighted them.

"They're all spaced out," Hodgins said slowly.

"Which makes sense," Booth said. "They can't risk having their entire operation blown if one warehouse came under suspicion."

"Right," Angela agreed. "So we can rule out the rest of this area…" Circles appeared around each warehouse, and Angela spaced them out so that they fell tangent with the next nearest warehouse. A section of the map lit up red.

Brennan had moved over to the table which contained the only evidence remaining in the case. The clothing from the two men who had not escaped from the hostage situation was separated into baggies and divided into two boxes, and now she carefully snapped on gloves and began to remove the bags from the first box. The one filled with the clothing of the man who had pinned her against the wall and pressed the barrel of his gun to the back of her skull.

"What are you doing, Bones?" he asked, stepping away from the others as they continued to methodically mark off sections of the map.

"He was their enforcer," Brennan said, eyebrows furrowed together as she leaned over the table and selected a pair of tweezers to pull at a loose thread. Eyeing it with interest, she placed it in one of her round evidence containers.

"And?" Booth asked.

"And…" she studied the soles of the boots. "He would have been the one most likely to frequent the warehouse that Shaw would be taken to. The other warehouses are allotted to their shipping and storage. This one is unique in that it has likely been used for past clean-up jobs as well."

"Meaning he would have been there often, as the enforcer," Booth filled in, watching her work with a fresh interest.

"It is not likely that he had visited that location recently enough for there to be anything on his clothing that would give away the information, but it is necessary to run the tests, regardless." She pulled a small piece of what looked like gravel from the bottom of the boot and placed it in another evidence container.

Wendell and Sweets rejoined the group, and Wendell came over to his mentor's side while Sweets hovered by the railing, looking pale and out of place.

"Pull anything you can from the material or the sole of the second boot," Brennan instructed him, pointing to it but barely looking up from her own task. Wendell fell into place beside her, and Booth watched silently, keeping an eye and an ear on both sides of the developing investigation. Angela and Hodgins appeared to have reached a block, both staring at the screen with nearly matching stares of frustration. Where they had hit a dead end, however, Brennan seemed to have found a breakthrough.

"What's that?" Booth asked, as she extracted a thin, mud-coated object from the treads. She shook her head, focused on her task as she took it to the side and placed it on a tray. Angela and Hodgins drifted over, and Brennan relinquished the task to them.

"Looks like some sort of paper," Angela commented, as Hodgins carefully probed it with tweezers, picking up an end and frowning as he studied the texture.

"It's organic," he said curiously. Brennan side-stepped out of his way as he reached for the cleaning tools and gently sprayed the mud off with a mist of water. "Some sort of shredded leaf…"

"Can it give us a location?" Booth demanded, stepping forward to look at the small piece of evidence.

"I don't know, man," Hodgins said with a slow shake of his head. "It looks like typical maple… you can find those anywhere."

"But it does tell us that he was near someplace with trees recently, right? So the warehouse must be… next to a park or a street that has trees."

"Possibly. But the Jeffersonian has these trees, too. He could have picked this up right outside."

Booth rubbed his hand roughly through his hair, setting his jaw and pacing away. They weren't getting anywhere. Hodgins bent lower over the evidence, going to work on carefully cleaning the rest of it of the mud. Angela touched Booth's arm and he jumped slightly. She gave him a pitying look.

"You look like you could use some sleep, G-man," she commented softly.

"I'm fine."

She cast him a doubtful look. "You're stressed out. And with every right. But we're doing everything that we can. Now, why don't you help me work on possibilities going off the theory that this leaf was present at the warehouse they've taken Shaw to?"

He sighed. It couldn't hurt.

For the next half hour, Hodgins, Brennan, and Wendell focused on the evidence while Angela, Booth, Cam, and Sweets worked out possibilities on the map and ran through the timeline again. And then the security footage finally came through.

The group clumped together, discouraged but determined, and watched as Angela pulled up the footage on the main screen. At first there was nothing, and Angela disclosed that the footage was supposed to pick up about twenty minutes into the hour. They sped through and stopped a minute before. There was silence as they stared at the empty hallway. A neighbor came out of the elevator with a case of beer and let himself into his apartment.

When the elevator opened again, Shaw stepped out.

Sweets made a sound from the back of his throat, and Booth swallowed and avoided looking towards him. They watched, together, as Shaw approached her door, carrying her purse and wearing a long coat. The stairwell door, directly across from her end-of-the-hall apartment, opened just as she was flipping through her keychain. A moment later, two figures in black had burst out. One pulled a black bag over her head, and as she writhed backwards and attempted to throw him off, barely missing with her sharp kick towards his groin, the other slammed a needle into her neck. She slumped, and the first seized her under the arms while the other took her legs. The door to the stairwell closed behind them.

Sweets was shaking.

In Booth's head, he was seeing Brennan with that bag thrown over her head, with that needle jabbed into her neck. He trembled, too.

"Angela, pull anything you can from this. Anything at all that might identify those men."

"They were here," Brennan said sharply. All attention turned her way. Her eyes were icy and clear. "Those two men were a part of the team which took us hostage, here in the lab."

"How can you tell?" Hodgins asked.

"Every human being is distinctive," Brennan said simply. "You look at faces to distinguish one from the other… but I also see stature and gait and bone structure."

"And you're sure these two men were part of the group that held us hostage, Bones?"

"Positive."

Booth nodded. "That's good enough for me."

"So we know for sure, then. That the drug traffickers took her," Hodgins said, glancing between Booth and Brennan.

"That still doesn't help us," Sweets muttered darkly. Angela and Cam shot him a worried look. "What?" He snapped. "We already _knew_ that they were behind this. It doesn't matter which… _specific_ members of their gang were behind the kidnapping. Genny is still gone, and we still have no clue where they've taken her!"

"Maybe you should—" Booth started to suggest to Cam in an undertone, but Sweets cut him off.

"No! I'm not going to go… calm down over a cup of coffee, Booth! I want answers. I want to know… I want to know what happened to my girlfriend, okay?" His eyes were sparkling with unshed tears and his dark curls hung over his forehead. He stared straight back at Booth, slowly shaking his head as though he sought the answers to his questions within the agent's eyes. There was nothing to find there, though. Nothing that could help them.

Angela stepped over to offer the psychologist a hug, but he stepped back, holding up his hands to ward her off. She stopped short, eyes widening.

"I need to… go for a walk. Just keep—keep working, okay?"

He spun on his heel and practically ran through the sliding doors of the lab, the sound of his light footsteps vanishing long before they had slid closed once more.

There was silence for a long moment, and then Booth turned to the team. "You heard him. We keep working, and we find our missing team member. Got it?" Nods all around, and they split up and began to murmur to one another, circulating helpless theories but trying—trying as hard as they could. Booth wished that there was something for him to do, something that didn't involve waiting for someone else to find the answers. But he had to admit that he was out of his element, here. They evidence that they could use to find the location was not something that could be dragged out of—

He paused in his pacing, and turned to look back at where the squints were gathered around the evidence table, taking turns with the microscope but not really getting anywhere.

"Bones," he said, and she turned to look at him over her shoulder. He motioned for her to join him and, frowning, she extricated herself from the others and stepped away to join him at the edge of the platform.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "I just… have a theory that I want to test out. And I just wanted to tell you, before I ran off to test it out."

Her frown deepened. "Okay. Explain."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

He still wasn't entirely sure if this was crazy or not. If he was wasting precious time, or coming up with new leads. But he did know that he had to try. He would never forgive himself if he didn't make the attempt, and he wasn't going that far out of the way. If anything broke back at the lab, he could be there, within a twenty minute time frame. And besides, anything that happened at the lab wasn't going to be helped along by him.

In the past, when Brennan had gone missing, it had ultimately been her team—_her _people—who had done the rescuing. He had done the running and the threatening and the interrogating, but they had solved the code that Hodgins had texted to him from her phone. They had been the ones to figure out where she was, with their brains and their fancy equipment. He had done the running and the digging, but he had always known that it had been the squints who had saved her. This was no different. Their logic, their science, would be what found the location Shaw was being held in.

He couldn't help the urge to try, though.

"Agent Booth," the gate master said as he pulled up. "That was fast."

"It's urgent," he assured.

"Well they've got him all ready for you," the man said with a slight shake of his head. "Called me special to make sure I told you. You've got some friends in high places, agent."

"Yes. I do," he said pointedly, nodding towards the gate. The younger man raised it for him, and he drove through to find himself in the familiar lot. He never took pleasure in visiting this place, but the job didn't provide much of a choice. If he had his way, he would never see the scum after he watched them walk out of that courtroom for the last time, a sentence hanging over their heads, but fate often had other plans.

The bulky, heavy-set man opposite him at the interrogation table looked up, but didn't say a word. There was no glimmer in his eyes, no smirk on his face. A cold settled over the room, and Booth took that as a cue.

"You're a dangerous man, Ortiz." No response. "You do a lot of… clean-up work, don't you? You like following orders… don't really know much of anything else. What was your home life like, I wonder?"

A flicker, but nothing more.

Booth grinned cockily, tilting his chair back and putting his feet up. "Come on, now. I drove all the way here for a nice chat, Juan."

The man leaned forward, and Booth dropped his feet, crossing his arms instead.

"You got an offer, or you just wasting the oxygen?" he hissed.

"Ah, the silent giant has a voice. And a heart, if I remember."

Ortiz laughed. One low, humorless exhalation. "You're funny, G-man, you know that? As I recall, it's you who owes me the favor for not blowing the brains out of that pretty little scientist of yours."

Booth leaned forward, now, as well, his voice low and deadly. "You're in federal prison, Juan. You are not getting out for a long, long time. And you aren't seeing your boys, either. For all they know… you're snitching to us."

Ortiz laughed, this time for real. "You amuse me, you know that? You think that scares me?"

"Fine, then. I'll make you an offer. How about an upgrade? Lower security, some recreational time…"

"Do I look like a fool to you, man? I ain't taking anything you offer me."

"What if I don't give you a choice, then?"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Juan spat.

"It means you might just get a _free_ trip down the river. See, I've decided that I like you. And I'm recommending better accommodations for you, as my new pal."

"No thanks," the bigger man snapped, moving to get up. The guard at the door shifted his stance.

"I think you're going to want to listen," Booth said simply. Ortiz glowered.

"You move me, I die, Agent Booth."

"I know. Sounds like suitable punishment for holding a federal lab hostage, stealing federal evidence, and nearly killing a federal liaison, doesn't it?"

Ortiz's hands clenched into fists.

"Here's how it works," Booth continued calmly. "You tell me one simple piece of information… we leave you right where you are. No hard feelings."

"And what's that piece of info you want so badly?"

Booth leaned back in across the table. "I want you to tell me where you go to clean-up, Ortiz. Where do you go, when the boss tells you to solve the problem? Huh? Where is it?"

Ortiz's face lit up, then, and he laughed, throwing his head back as the sound boomed out and echoed around the small room.

"Who do my boys have, Agent? What wonderful little piece of your property did they get their claws on? I bet it was your scientist, wasn't it? No, no, they'd never have let you in here with me… so it was the Asian, then. The hot one? Oh, or that African _chica_. Am I getting warmer?"

"It wasn't one of my people," Booth lied, his voice low. "But you will tell me where I can find what I'm looking for."

"No, I won't. You see, Agent Booth, my boys don't need to see a transfer to know they are ratted out. They are not stupid. They see you, coming through those doors with all of your guns, though… and they know who sent you." He leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. "I'll take that transfer, actually. I could use a… change of scenery."

Booth stood up.

"While we're granting favors," Ortiz called, as Booth stepped around the table towards the door, "Why don't you send over that hot piece of ass scientist, huh? Last time I saw her, we were in a bit of a rush, you see. Now, I've got all the time in the world…"

Booth left the room, and found his hands shaking.

He snapped out his cell phone, and hit his first speed dial.

"Booth?" she demanded into his ear.

His eyes slid closed and he let out the breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "Bones."

"What is it? Did you find anything?"

"No, no… he wouldn't give up anything to me. I just… needed to hear your voice."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Is everything okay?" she asked quietly.

"Fine. Things just… didn't go as well as I was hoping."

"What did he say?" she demanded.

"He proved he's smarter than I was giving him credit for. He knew that giving over the location would be worse for him than a transfer."

"Oh. Is that why you're upset?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning against the wall.

"Not exactly. Is Sweets there?"

A pause. "Yeah… here."

"Booth?"

"Sweets, I need you to tell me how to get into this guy's head. Right now."

"You've threatened him with a transfer?"

"Yes, and it failed. I need something better; something he can't ignore."

"Put that thing on speaker," Booth heard a male voice say, in the background. A moment later, he recognized it as Culver, as the agent said, "Tell him we'll get Zander out, Booth."

"Zander?" Hodgins questioned.

"Ortiz's younger brother. His full name is Zachary Ortiz." Culver explained. "I looked into Ortiz's family connections after we got his name. Zander was busted years ago, while trying to get initiated into the gang. He's practically an honorary member, and he's been causing… trouble behind bars."

"So what are you going to do?" Hodgins asked. "Try to get a deal for both of them; something to sweeten the pot and crack Ortiz?"

"No, I've got a better idea," Booth said slowly, mulling a concept over thoughtfully. "I'll call you back. And Bones?"

There was a slight shuffling. "You're off speaker," she informed him.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Be careful."

"I will."

He didn't go back to Ortiz. Instead, he went to the warden and requested to have a call made to the minimum security facility. He was going to be paying them a visit shortly.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Zander Ortiz was nothing like his older brother. Where Juan was large and intimidating, Zander was tall, slim, and weasel-like in appearance. His biceps were defined from prison workouts, but he was still lanky, and if it weren't for his tattoos, the scars, and the sharp look in his eyes, Booth would imagine prison life was torture for him. But he got the feeling that Zander could hold his own.

Still, he was not his brother, by far.

"What do you want, _Agent?"_ Zander demanded the moment he entered the room. "You're making me miss my recreation time, y'know that?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Ortiz, I'm well aware." He seated himself heavily in the chair across from the prisoner. "I was just visiting your brother."

A shadow fell across Zander's face. "Oh? How's he doing?" he asked, a mocking edge to his voice. Booth read the curiosity that flashed through his eyes, though.

"He's doing just fine, considering. I mean, he is still alive, at this point, which I'm sure you're glad to hear."

Zander snorted derisively. "Of course he's alive. The question is, how are the other prisoners looking, after spending some… _time_ with him?"

"It might surprise you to know he's been laying pretty low, actually. Not quite so high on the totem pole after disobeying direct orders the way he did, and getting caught, no less."

"Juan is big in the organization," Zander sneered. "He's got respect. You don't know what you're talking about."

"So you didn't hear, then. Interesting."

Zander stared at him, dark eyes beady and cold. "What?" he asked at last, when it became clear that Booth wasn't going to elaborate. "What are you trying to say, huh?"

"Juan was on that _task-force_ that held up a federal lab. Bet you heard about that, right?" He saw the flicker of recognition on the other man's face and continued, "The boss told him to execute the head scientist, but when they left him alone… he let her live."

Zander said nothing, confirming Booth's suspicion. He had heard this story before.

"And then, last one out that he is, he gets arrested. In fact, he gets another one of the boys shot by taking so long."

Zander's eyes were like ice.

"From what I've seen… those boys of his aren't too happy with him. In fact, I'd say it looks sort of like he was working for the opposite side, don't you think? Doesn't kill the lead scientist who was working against his team, gets himself captured…"

"Shut the fuck up," Zander hissed.

Booth smiled. _Success_.

"Don't like the truth, there, huh, Zander?"

Zander's fists were clenched in front of him. "What do you want?" he snapped at last, staring at the table as though it had personally offended him.

"Answers. I just have… a simple question for you. You answer it truthfully, and Juan doesn't end up executed by some inside man. And you know that they can pull that off. I know you do."

"I won't rat on them," he responded at once.

"Not to save your brother? That's a pity. I can't imagine what your mother will say…" Booth started to stand up.

"What's your question?" Zander demanded.

Booth sat back down, folding his hands together on the table in front of him. "All I want to know is where your brother would go for a clean-up job. You tell me that, and we keep him safe."

"And what about me, huh? They'll come after me."

"They won't know you were behind it. How could they? You weren't even properly initiated. But you know, don't you? You know, and you can save your brother." Booth took out his phone and flipped through his apps. And then he slid it across the table, a map of Virginia on display. "Just direct me to where I want to go, Zander."

"I want some sort of paper. A contract. I want proof you'll get my brother into a protection program."

Booth motioned towards the guard, and he stepped outside. "It's already in progress," he assured the younger Ortiz brother. When the papers had been delivered and Zander had read through them, frowning and not fully following the details but believing them—and the signatures that they bore—to be authentic, he nodded, signed his name, and pushed them back across the table. And then he accepted the phone and typed in the location.

"If they've moved it, I can't help you. But the risk I take in giving even this to you…"

"Is worthy of our deal," Booth agreed with a nod.

Then he stood up and left.

"Luna RV Park," he said into his cell, as he pulled out of the gates. "There's an abandoned building by the lake. And no doubt a bunch of skeletons in the water."

"I'll organize a team," Culver responded. "You'll be meeting us?"

"I'm heading straight to the Park," Booth said. "Should be about the same time, with the siren."

He called Bones, next, knowing that he couldn't avoid it. The phone barely had a chance to ring.

"You're going," she said, in lieu of a greeting. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, Bones, I'm going."

"Culver just left. He said you found out where she was."

"I did."

There was a long pause, and then he heard a soft sound, like a sniff.

"I'm going to find her, and bring her back," he assured softly. "Okay, Bones? And I'll tell you all about it, tonight, over some Thai food."

"Okay," she answered, but her voice was too quiet.

"I _have_ to go," he said, "I have to, Bones. I can't not."

She sighed heavily. "I know, Booth. Please… be careful, though. And wait for backup."

"I promise," he reassured. He was on the highway, now, sirens on and lights flashing. "I'll see you in a little while. I love you."

"I love you," she echoed.

When he hung up, there was a heavy weight in his chest. He was going to see her again. Soon. There was nothing that would keep him from that. From her.

The drive to Luna Park was longer than he would have liked, and he kept running through the timeline in his head. The odds were not in Shaw's favor, and his past experience was painting grisly images in his mind. Knuckles clutched white on the wheel, he swerved through traffic and prayed.

He couldn't hear any other sirens, when he got close, and he shut his off before he turned down the long dirt path that led into the park. There weren't many RVs parked in the area, given the season, and he parked a fair distance away from the abandoned cabin. Through the bare trees he could see its shadowy outline, and that of a dark vehicle parked by its side. Gun drawn, he called in his location and discovered that the rest of the squad was only minutes behind him.

His promise to Bones still fresh in his mind, he made a cautious approach, intending to get the lay of the land and then back off and wait for the rest of his team. He would be remiss if he didn't take advantage of his early arrival, though, and he couldn't risk the outcome by holding back when he had a stealthy approach lined up.

Treading lightly over the fallen leaves, he came up through the trees alongside the cabin. The woods were silent, besides the gentle lapping of the lake water along the shoreline and the distant hum of a boat engine.

The windows of the cabin were dark and dusty, but he peered in carefully before brushing off a section to stare through. The room he was peering into was dark and crumbling, with furniture lying abandoned around the edges. A mattress lay without support in the far corner, and there were concerning stains creating a patchwork pattern on the floor.

Booth moved to the next window.

This time he found a kitchen, and this time it looked like it had seen human contact recently. There was an overflowing trash can by the door, and a coat hanging by the door. Swallowing and leveling his breathing patterns, he reassured his footing and then crept further until he rounded the corner.

A sound made him freeze in place, and he held his breath as he stayed frozen where he was, listening for it to repeat. Then it came again, a low, pained cry. _Shaw_.

The next window he found gave him his answers. The room he was looking into was mirrored to that of the first room he had found. There was a chair in the corner instead of a mattress, and Agent Shaw was bound to it, blindfolded and filthy but very much alive. He stepped back and pressed himself against the wall as he heard heavy footfalls from inside. The window was battered and cracked, and the wind whistled slightly as it rushed through. The opening allowed him to hear as the new arrival spoke.

"Filthy little whore," he hissed. There was the sharp crack of sound as a slap was delivered, and he heard Shaw's breathing sharpen. "Should I get a screwdriver, huh? Just how badly do you want to keep your secrets to yourself, bitch?"

The frustration in his voice was palpable. Shaw hadn't broken yet, and this one, young by the sound of his voice, was not handling whatever responsibility had been placed on his shoulders very well.

"Cool it, Leo," an older, gruffer voice said, as another set of footsteps came into the room. "It's only been a few days. After a while, she'll be wanting some food. Some water. Won't you, sweetheart?"

Shaw said nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, Booth caught movement and turned to see several vehicles pulling up beside his own through the trees. Reinforcements had arrived. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he couldn't risk answering it. Not in his current position.

Confident that Shaw was not in immediate, life-threatening danger, he ducked his head and set off at a swift, silent pace back up the incline towards his SUV. Culver nodded to him as he arrived, and Charlie came up by his side.

"What's the situation?" the former asked.

"She's alive," he started, and saw visible relief in the faces of the agents around him. He spotted a few of the younger agents; the ones who would be more likely to know and be friends with Shaw. "They've got her tied to a chair in the room on the west side. From what I can see, there are two guards on her, trying to break her. But she hasn't caved yet."

"Thatta girl," came a low murmur, and Booth recognized Sawyer, an older agent. He has served as a mentor figure to many of the new agents.

"What's the plan?" Charlie asked, glancing between Culver and Booth as though not quite sure who was on point. Booth wasn't quite sure, himself, but he looked to Culver and the older man took the initiative.

"We're going for the element of surprise, here. The minute they know we've surrounded them, we'll have a hostage situation on our hands. We go in quick, and clean. Odds are these goons aren't going down without a fight, so you see those guns trained on you and you take them down. Our number one objective here is to rescue or agent. Gaining prisoners of our own comes second to that. Everyone clear?" There were nods all around. "Good. Booth, you take Team B. I've got Team A. My group is heading around from the east, yours will come around from the west. The door will be on the opposite end. Post somebody on that window you were looking through. We go in hard, through the main door, and head for the room on the west side. When I give the signal." He turned to Booth. "We wait for them to leave her alone in the room."

Booth nodded. "Ready to go."

Waving a hand signal over his head, half of the group split off at Culver's lead and began the silent descent down towards the run-down cabin. Booth motioned for his team to follow him closely, and then began to take the same route he had just followed back down.

He put two men, Gustafson and Rodney, outside the window, and then brought the rest around with him to the front of the building. Culver was positioned at the door, and Booth spaced the rest of his men out at the windows and came up on the opposite side of the door with his remaining three. Culver met his gaze with an icy clarity, in the calm before the storm. Then they both watched for the sign from Culver's watchman.

When it finally came, Culver raised his hand for the others, and in a split second the door was down and the place was swarming. Gun drawn and on the alert, Booth swept in with the others and aimed his gun on the first guard, the young one with the anger problem. He was down on the ground before Booth could fire, riddled with bullets. The gun he had drawn clattered down at his side.

The older one made a move for the room where Shaw was being held, and fired off several rounds before a sharp shot from the side hit him in the leg. He was down and pinned, but Booth was already through the doors to the side room. Rodney was in the window, drawing his gun back out of the hole in the glass. He had taken down the older gunman, and Booth shot him a signal to stay put just in case before turning his attention to Shaw.

Several others had come in behind him, and he joined them as a female agent, a close friend of Shaw's, he suddenly remembered, pulled the blindfold away from her face. Booth reached for his knife and winced. Belatedly, he heard a loud cracking sound. Rodney was gone from the window, and Gustafson stood in his place, back to the window, gun drawn.

There was a stinging sensation coursing through Booth's arm, and he glanced to the side and was surprised to find red. Bright, gleaming red pulsing through the fabric of his white shirt.

"Boss!" someone shouted.

There was a fresh blaze of gunfire, in the distance. Booth leaned against the nearest wall, clutching his arm. He hated being shot, he thought with a distant curiosity. He really, really hated it.

The room spun away into blackness.

**Just a quick something that I wanted to mention at the end of this chapter: I know I'm not exactly _deserving_ of reviews at this point, but pretty please? Let me know you're still out there, and that I haven't lost a majority of my audience thanks to my slow updating. It would be majorly appreciated. **


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N- Hello again, everyone! I know I promised a faster update, but things sort of didn't happen that way. Finals week ended up being a lot more pressure than I was counting on (which was all worth it after I got my grades back, by the way) and then I was counting on having free time in the days before I went home... but it turned out that packing up my dorm room was a LOT more complicated than I had been expecting. Long story short, I didn't get the chance to actually work on finishing up this chapter until this week. I hope you all aren't too annoyed with me.  
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**Enjoy the chapter; I still own nothing.  
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_Chapter 20_

_October 25__th__, 2011_

"I can't do this," Brennan whispered. Angela looked up from the magazine she was pretending to read in the seat beside her, and then reached over to place a reassuring hand on her knee.

"He's going to be fine, sweetie."

Brennan laughed softly through the tears building up in her throat. "That's exactly what we said last time," she whispered.

"And he was," Angela reminded gently.

She just shook her head. "But first… _first, _he was…" she couldn't get the word out, and she buried her head in her hands out of frustration. It felt like her heart was being strangled, and there was a dark place, a hold within her very soul, which was slowly working itself open. It was going to swallow her whole, and drag her back into that place she had lived in for two weeks, all those years ago.

She couldn't survive that. Not a second time.

Her hands immediately fell to naturally caress her rounded abdomen. She couldn't do this alone. She couldn't do this without Booth by her side.

He had _promised_ her, damn him! He had promised that this wouldn't happen…

"They said it was his arm, right?" Cam asked tentatively.

Brennan nodded, not looking up. His upper arm. That couldn't be that bad, right? They would patch him up, and he would be just fine. Probably a cast for a few weeks. Nothing life-threatening.

Except they weren't telling her anything.

_Why_ weren't they telling her anything?

There were a lot of things a bullet could hit on its way through an arm. He'd lost a lot of blood…

Shaw was fine. They knew that much; she was already settled in a room with a broken wrist and a few broken fingers all placed in casts. They'd patched up her scars and given her pain meds, and now Sweets was with her.

Now all they could do was sit here, in this horrible waiting room that she had been in far too many times, and hold out for answers that she might not even want to receive.

"Someone should call Rebecca," she said softly.

"I'll do it," Cam volunteered heavily, getting to her feet. "…Does anyone want coffee?"

Angela and Wendell nodded, and Hodgins raised his hand in indication.

"Brennan?" Cam asked tentatively.

"No thanks," she murmured, and Cam stepped away and walked down the hall, heels clicking loudly on the tile floors.

A nurse walked by, and Angela's head tilted up. Then she was on her feet, "Nurse!"

The woman turned around and looked at Angela expectantly. "We're waiting on news about Seeley Booth. Special Agent Seeley Booth."

"Are you family?" the nurse asked, looking between their different faces.

"My friend is pregnant with his child," Angela said impatiently, gesturing to Brennan. "We need to know where he is; what's happening."

The nurse slowly shook her head, glancing at Brennan and taking in the bulge of her stomach. "I'm sorry, I don't have any information for you. You can try at the main desk for an update, but I'm not sure how much you'll get if none of you are direct… family." Her gaze lingered on Brennan's ring-less finger before she hurried away.

Angela stood there for a second, and then twisted her ring off of her finger and, seizing Brennan's hand, slipped it on to hers. "Come on," she said, pulling her up to her feet. "We're going to go get answers." Brennan didn't argue, as they travelled up the hallway. "You're engaged to him, got it?" Angela added pointedly. "You're his fiancé. They'll have to tell you… Excuse me, Miss?"

They stopped in front of the main desk, where an overweight woman was seated behind a bulky computer, a pencil tucked behind her ear.

"My friend needs to know where her fiancé is," Angela announced abruptly.

"Name?" the woman asked on a sigh.

"Booth," Brennan cut in. "Seeley Booth."

The woman tapped away on her keyboard, and Brennan's heart fluttered. Angela squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, but she could barely feel it over the weight hanging over her.

"He's in surgery now," the woman drawled as simply as though she were sharing news on the latest change in weather. "That's all I've got for you. If you go to our waiting room, someone will be out to find you when there's more information on his condition."

They stood there for a second, and Brennan could feel herself trembling in place until Angela placed a guiding hand on her shoulder and pulled her away. "They'll be out to tell us soon," she said. "It will all be fine." But Brennan was barely hearing the words. Her thoughts were rushing, and she was remembering it all. Every last detail of those two weeks, from the moment that the nurse had come out and announced his name to the moment when she had seen that dummy fall out of his casket.

The world had stopped for two weeks. Reality had gone away, and she had entered another universe—one without Booth present in it. Right now, she was standing once more on the threshold, staring over the edge into the blackness and knowing all too well what lay below.

"I'll die without him," she whispered, barely aware that the words had crossed her lips. Angela's grip on her arm tightened, and she pulled her down into new seats in the waiting room, away from the others.

"He's not going anywhere," Angela answered fervently, but the quiver in her voice told Brennan that she did not fully believe what she was saying. After that, she stared at the opposite wall or the floor in front of her feet and did her best to ignore every attempt at conversation.

Eventually, Angela stood and moved back to the others, accepting a coffee and talking to them in an undertone for a long time before she eventually returned to resume her silent vigil by Brennan's side.

At five o'clock, when they had been waiting for almost two hours, Cam and Wendell departed to pick up some food for the group. Hodgins called and checked up on Michael and the sitter. Sweets made an appearance, filling them in on Shaw's condition. Brennan didn't engage in the conversation, but she listened.

Shaw was fine, Sweets said. There was a lot for her to handle, though, and it could be awhile before she was back in the field.

He asked for an update on Booth, and discovered that there wasn't one.

Silence reigned, after that.

Brennan refused the offer of food when Cam and Wendell returned. The others picked at bagels and cheese sandwiches, drinking their cold coffee and making quiet conversation. She wasn't hungry or thirsty. She didn't want conversation. All she wanted was Booth.

They said he had been shot in the arm. Just the arm. What was taking so long?

_They said he was fine_.

_Told her she should go home and get some rest. Surgery had been successful and he would survive. Physical therapy for a few weeks. Some bandages that would need changing. Those were the sorts of things she was expecting. _

_ She didn't go home. They told her to, and Angela and the rest of the team tried to insist upon it, but she refused to leave. Claiming a couch in the waiting room, she finally accepted the offer of food and coffee just to stave off the natural bodily urges and remain at her post. Angela volunteered to stay, but Brennan sent her on her way. _

_ She fell asleep on the couch._

_ In the morning they told her he was dead._

"Seeley Booth," a clear voice called through the haze. Her gaze shot up at once.

A nurse, a young, blonde woman with her hair in a bun and glasses perched on her nose, was looking around the waiting room.

"The family of Seeley Booth," she repeated, and the others stood and gathered together. Brennan found herself on her feet, and a moment later she was directly in front of the nurse.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"Mr. Booth has exited surgery and is being moved to his room at this moment. He will make a full recovery."

The world spun around her, but it was her voice that was speaking, saying, "I need to see him. What room is he in?"

"I can take you there in just a moment," the nurse said patiently, smiling.

Brennan did not yet feel the relief that she had been expecting. She needed to _see_ him… she had to be sure…

"First, though… you must be his fiancé?"

Brennan frowned, and Angela interjected, "Yes, she is."

"Okay. We can't allow all of you in to see him at once, so to start I would suggest if you visited him on your own." Brennan nodded automatically. "Now, he sustained a single gunshot wound to his left arm. The bullet was lodged, which prompted the surgery, but was extracted."

"He's okay, though?" Cam asked, cutting in. "No lasting nerve damage..?"

"He should make a full recovery," the nurse confirmed, and Brennan heard the collective sigh of relief from the group that surrounded her. She was still processing, herself. "If you follow me," the nurse was saying. "Mr. Booth should be settled in his room, now." They started up the hall, and Brennan barely noticed that the others had naturally remained clumped together behind her. "He may take a little while to wake up from the anesthesia," the nurse continued. "And when he does a doctor will come by to check up on him. But for now…" they climbed a flight of stairs. "You can sit with him while you wait."

The door was only the third down, and the nurse led the way in, waiting from Brennan to come through the doorway before sidestepping back through and shutting it gently behind her.

He was swathed in the blankets, but there were only a few wires coming from him. Not like the last time. The chair squeaked when she sat down and scooted it up by his side. Fingers trembling, she found his hand and engulfed it in both of hers, squeezing gently as she felt the warmth and the steady thrum of his pulse.

She couldn't have avoided the tears even if she had been trying.

Despite her touch, he did not stir. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, her breathing falling in sync with his as she let this new reality wash away the one she had been picturing in the terror of the past few hours. He was alive. He was right in front of her, heart beating, lungs expanding, brain functioning. He was going to wake up soon and talk to her and it would all be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_October 26__th__, 2011_

A gentle squeezing in her fingers stirred her into wakefulness, and she blinked slowly and became aware of her surroundings. She had been sleeping with her head rested on the edge of the hospital mattress, arms tucked under her chin for support.

Booth's hand was in hers, and he was staring at her with half-open brown eyes, his fingers gently squeezing around her hand.

She sat upright at once, gripping his hand back. "Booth?"

He had woken yesterday, but only briefly before the medication pulled him back under.

"G'morning, Bones," he said heavily, his voice slightly slurred with sleep and the effects of medication. She breathed out a sigh and scraped the loose strands of hair out of her face.

"You're awake," she stated in relief. "Did… did you just wake up? I need to get a doctor… You're not in any pain, are you?"

He smiled dreamily. "I'm fine. Just opened my eyes a couple of minutes ago. Looks like I… got shot, doesn't it?"

A shiver ran involuntarily through her. "Yes, you got shot. The bullet… lodged in your humerus. There was quite a lot of bleeding, they told me."

He was silent for a while, his head tilted to the side as he watched her while he thought. "Sorry, Bones," he murmured at last.

"For what?" she demanded, leaning forward and brushing his brow. He was warm, but not to a worrying degree. His eyes were bright and his hair soft. The machines continued to beep at their natural thrum in the background.

"Scaring you," he answered hoarsely. "I don't… I don't really know _what_ happened… we had the two guys that were guarding her secured, and then… the window…"

"They were about to trade shifts," Brennan said cautiously, unsure of how much she should tell him. He still hadn't seen a doctor; they had said that when he woke up he would need to see a doctor… "That was why more of their team showed up."

"And they opened fire on my team," Booth followed. "Rodney… what happened to Rodney?"

Brennan swallowed. "I'm going to get a doctor. You need to rest, and you should be looked at…"

"Bones," he said seriously, more awake now than before. "Don't do that. You _never_ do that. Just tell me straight out."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Rodney…" she wasn't sure of the names, usually, but she remembered this one specifically from the hushed conversation she had been a part of with Sweets and the others earlier this morning, before she had returned to Booth's side. "Rodney didn't make it, Booth. I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes, his head falling back heavily into the pillow.

"Where's Shaw?" he asked finally.

"She's fine," Brennan reassured at once. "She has a room a floor below us… just minor injuries. Sweets says she's going to be fine."

Booth nodded. "Good. And the rest of the team?"

"Everyone is fine. Any other injuries were minor scrapes or were caught by the bullet-proof vests."

"I'll have to talk to Rodney's family… he was just newly engaged…"

Brennan swallowed, and Booth's hand brushed over the ring on her finger as if he had just remembered noticing it. She had just remembered it herself, with those words.

"Something I don't know about?" he asked softly.

"Angela," Brennan replied quickly, clearing her throat. "She gave it to me. So that they would ask less questions about… you and me. When we were still trying to get information about where you were."

"I see. It looks nice on you."

She blinked and averted her eyes. "Yeah." What else could she say?

The ring felt heavy and foreign on her finger, and somewhere, Rodney's fiancé was receiving the news. No, she had no idea what else to say. Not yet, at least.

"How's the baby?" he asked, glancing towards her abdomen.

"She's fine. Same as before."

Neither of them seemed to know what else to say. There were so many thoughts and questions swirling around in Brennan's mind, but she didn't know how to verge any of them as possible topics of conversation.

The door opened, and the doctor Brennan had met briefly, the day before, stepped into the room, smiling cheerfully and carrying a clipboard.

"Nice to see you awake, Mr. Booth. How are you feeling today?"

Booth pushed himself into a better upright position, wincing. "Well my arm hurts, but I'm pretty sure it's supposed to do that when someone puts a bullet through it."

The doctor reached out her left hand and shook his somewhat awkwardly. "I'm Dr. Keller," she said. "There's just a few things we need to go over. Would you like your fiancé to stay?"

He didn't correct her use of the word, much to Brennan's relief.

"Anything you tell me will make more sense to her," Booth assured, gripping Brennan's hand a little more tightly. She squeezed back.

"Alright, then. We successfully extracted the bullet, which lodged in the upper portion of your right humerus." She pulled out an x-ray and held it up to the light, pointing out the bullet to him. He grimaced slightly. "It was caught mostly in the side of the bone, rather than embedded in the marrow, and that made the operation a little simpler. Nonetheless, you've had a number of transfusions. You should count yourself lucky, though." She pointed to the area on the x-ray just to the right of the dark spot which was the bullet. "A centimeter over, and you'd have cut this artery."

Brennan's eyes fell to the floor, and she could feel Booth's eyes on her. She hadn't known that. Up until now, she hadn't had a chance to see the x-rays at all.

A centimeter. The difference between surgery and five-seconds-until-death.

She felt a squeeze in her hand, and looked up to meet his soft brown gaze, a sincere, apologetic smile on his lips. She managed to return it, and then focused on the doctor once more.

"You'll need to stay with us for two, possible three, more nights, and then we'll get you into a rehabilitation program and you'll be in a cast for a few months. It might take a while for your arm to function the way it used to, and you may notice some permanent changes, but overall you're in good shape for a full recovery."

Booth nodded. "Thanks."

"I'll have the staff bring you some food; pudding cups and water should be a good starter with you just waking up."

He brightened. "Pudding sounds excellent."

When the doctor was gone, they sat in silence for a long moment.

"Eventually you're going to have to give that back to Angela," he commented at last, nodding towards the ring.

She twisted it around her finger a fraction, not nodding but not disagreeing, either.

He was looking at her thoughtfully, and she cleared her throat.

"We should be home, soon. So that's good."

"Yeah."

Neither of them mentioned marriage. Neither of them mentioned bullet-holes. Neither of them brought up the last few days. They just sat together, hands still clenched as one, until eventually a light knocking signified the arrival of their friends.

Cam, Angela, Hodgins, and Wendell came in as a unit, bubbly and loud and emotionally. There were hugs and cheers and laughter, and Angela grinned wickedly at her ring on Brennan's finger, as though she had already declared success in her meddling.

"Glad to see you awake, man," Wendell said, clapping Booth on his good shoulder.

"Have any of you seen Shaw, yet?" Booth asked, looking around at the group. They all shook their heads.

"Sweets has been keeping us updated; with her awake and treated we were sort of more worried about you," Cam explained.

"And then Sweets insisted that we all go home and get some sleep. Dr. Brennan stayed, of course." Wendell added.

Booth nodded. "Right. But… Shaw is fine, right? Has she given a statement or anything, about what happened?"

The group shared a glance between themselves, and Brennan kept her gaze focused on her and Booth's intertwined fingers.

"We don't know," Angela supplied. "But… we can find out for you."

"That would be good. I'll… I'll need to talk to her myself. As soon as I can. We have to get this case closed. Before… anything else goes wrong. There haven't been any developments, have there?"

"No," the others answered together, a mixture of regret and frustration.

"Where's Culver?"

"Booth," Brennan murmured, squeezing his hand. He frowned, and she continued earnestly, her voice low and serious, "We can work on the case later… you need to rest."

He stared for a long moment, like he hadn't understood what she had said. "Bones, I have to close this case. You understand that, right?"

_"We_, Booth. _We _have to close this case. Just… not today."

"They tried to kill Shaw. And _me_. They're not going to stop. Not until they're behind bars."

She opened her mouth but couldn't find the words. She wanted to talk sense into him, convince him that he was being crazy and that he needed to rest and heal and keep his stress levels down. He needed to come home and be with her and go through his physical therapy. He needed to stay with her, no matter what happened. He needed… to stay away from this case that had almost killed him. But their friends were standing around awkwardly and he had a fire in his eyes that said he wasn't going to give up.

Brennan squeezed his hand and looked away.

"Mr. Booth, here is your… pudding." The nurse paused in the doorway and then put a hand on her hip. "What is this? There are too many of you in here. Everyone out; Mr. Booth needs peace and quiet."

The others hovered a moment and then said their farewells and moved towards the door. Brennan stayed put, sitting stiffly in her chair as Booth was presented with the pudding. The nurse gave her a look, but nodded to herself after her gaze located the ring perched on Brennan's finger.

"Do you still think one of the women was behind Kaminski's death?" he asked when they were alone, as he popped a spoonful of pudding into his mouth.

"Booth," she sighed.

"What?"

"Don't you think you're… rushing back into this? You got _shot_."

"Exactly. All the more reason to work this case into the ground, Bones. As soon as this case is closed, we won't have to worry about anything work-related."

"But you don't have to be the one that solves it. The rest of the team, Culver, the FBI… they can handle this case. They can get it closed… they don't need us, now. We've given them all we can from the lab. Now it's just a matter of putting it together and chasing down the suspects."

"Right. I've been the lead agent on this murder investigation all the way through. It's only a matter of putting it together, now, and that's what I _do_. That's my _part_, Bones. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you're going to stop working cases because of this pregnancy?"

She scowled and lowered her head. She heard him sigh.

"Bones, I love you. You have to understand why this is important to me. You'd feel the same way, in my position."

"And you'd feel the same way in mine!" she countered, meeting his eyes again with a fire burning in her gaze. "You wouldn't want me getting back out there after nearly _dying_. Watching me go straight back to the case would kill you and you'd do everything you could to keep me away from it."

Booth said nothing for a long moment. "I have to do this," he whispered at last. "I need to talk to Shaw and I need to talk to Culver. And _we_, you and I, need to put these clues together, once and for all."

A sigh fell heavily from her lips and then she managed a pained smile. "Fine. But… we're staying here, in the hospital. We can talk through this and figure out the clues, but if you insist on working on it right now… then we are staying here and getting you the treatment you need _while_ we solve this case."

He grinned. "See that, Bones? Compromise."

She couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes. Compromise."

"So. Before Shaw went missing, where were we?"

"Narrowing down suspects. We had just decided that Tania was the most likely suspect, and that Taylor must have fled when she found the body."

"Alright, then we have some agents go out and pick up Tania for questioning."

"And we stay here, at the hospital," Brennan intoned.

He laughed. "Yes, Bones. Compromise, remember? If we could sneak in a laptop, though…"

She nodded slowly. "That could definitely be arranged. But for _today_… we relax."

He hesitated and then leaned up to kiss her on the lips. "Deal."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_October 28__th__, 2011_

"Agent Booth," Jimmy greeted him. "Glad to see you're still kicking."

"You know me," Booth agreed with a chuckle. He and Brennan were sitting, squished together but upright, in his hospital bed with the computer shared between their laps, looking at Jimmy and the dark walls of the interrogation room behind him. The view slid to the side and adjusted and then they were looking down the length of the table, with Jimmy on the left and Tania seated stiffly on the right.

"Why am I here?" she demanded. "And what's with… that?" she added, gesturing at the computer.

"Agent Booth couldn't make it here personally," Jimmy filled in with a disregarding wave of his hand. "We just have a few questions for you."

"I've already told you everything," she insisted with a groan. "Now you're just wasting my time. What am I supposed to tell my husband about where I've been this afternoon?"

"I'm sure you'll think of a suitable lie," Brennan interjected. "You must have had excellent practice by now."

_"Bones,"_ Booth hissed in astonishment, on the verge of laughter. She bit her lip and looked sheepishly away.

Tania huffed indignantly.

"That's not our problem, Mrs. Henson," Jimmy continued. "We have reason to believe you killed your lover, Mr. Kaminski, when you went to see him the day of his murder."

"What?" she snapped. "That's… absurd! Why on earth would I kill Nathan?" She leaned forward. "Nathan didn't care that I was married. And he was working on a huge case; the biggest break of his career! He didn't need to worry about… blackmailing me or whatever it is you think my motive would be. He just liked _sex_. Maybe a little too much, but my God he was _good_ at it with all the practice he got. And I was all the happier for that fact."

"If your husband finds out about your affair it would destroy your marriage and cut you out of an enormous amount of wealth," Jimmy pointed out. "That's a lot of risk based on trusting a guy like Kaminski."

"My husband…" Tania wavered and then she slapped a palm down on the table. "My husband has been seeing a woman for over a year now, okay? He's been seeing her right in our own damn house and since I started seeing Nathan… he started paying more attention to me."

"But your husband doesn't know about your affair," Booth pointed out.

"Oh, _please!_ Of course he knows! He's not stupid; he's known for ages and it put some of the fire back into our marriage. I was starting to see Nathan less and he was starting to see _her_ less. We were finally making progress, for the first time in years."

"Then why all the secrecy? Why did you keep trying to ensure that we didn't inform your husband?" Booth demanded.

She sighed. "It's not a _real_ affair if we know, but don't _talk_ about it. Neither of us acknowledge what's going on. That's how it works. And eventually… we can just pretend this whole thing never happened and be perfectly happy pretending that neither of us found out about each other."

"She's not serious," Brennan murmured.

"I think she is," Booth muttered back.

"Hey, it wasn't all that easy!" Tania snapped. "Me and my husband have been… struggling for a long time now. But we're making it work, unlike all those couples that up and get divorced at the first inkling of an affair."

"Right. Because cheating always brings people closer together," Booth said under his breath. "Listen, Mrs. Henson, this isn't making you look any less guilty."

"Well then you should let me finish. After Nathan was killed, things only got worse for me. I was planning to break it off with him myself, but when he died… I'm afraid I got emotional and angry and our marriage was on the rocks for weeks. He's going to file for divorce and I've been trying to figure out a way to stop him."

"And how do you know this?"

"Because, I know everything that happens in that house! I know everything that he does and I know that he called his lawyer two weeks ago and that he's been hiding the mail from me and that he stopped seeing that girl months ago, right around when Nathan died."

Booth frowned. "Why would he stop seeing her?"

"How the hell would I know? I don't ask him for his _reasons_. I just know that he stopped seeing her. Maybe he figured out my affair was over and he cut off his, too. But then he pulled away, even without her around, and I think we're done for."

She blinked away tears for the first time. Through everything with the murder of her lover, she had never shown much real emotion. But now, at the revelation that her world was turning upside down and her fortunes vanishing, she was finally showing some emotional pain.

It was almost disturbing.

"Don't you get it?" she exclaimed when none of her interrogators said anything. "I've lost everything _because_ Nathan was killed. I had no motive and certainly no happiness from his death!"

Booth glanced at Brennan.

They were wrong and they both knew it. She hadn't killed him and they were back at square one. In the interrogation room, Jimmy closed up with a few quick questions and then shut down their web chat on his way out. Booth and Brennan sat in the hospital room and mulled over the turn in events.

"Maybe the husband wanted Nathan dead," Brennan suggested.

"Possible. But it works better for him to call her out on the affair while he's still alive. And if he was trying to frame her for it, to get rid of her, he'd have done a better job of it. There really is nothing pointing to her. Or anybody else, for that matter…"

"Nothing but that security footage. And we can't seem to get any evidence linking the crime to anyone who was in that apartment."

"I think what we need to do is go back to that apartment."

"_We_ aren't going anywhere," Brennan argued with a scoff. "You're staying right here."

"Fine. You can go check out the apartment and tell me what you find."

"It's still a crime scene?"

"Yeah, you'll need to go get the key from my office, but they haven't rented it out to anyone new. It's still a part of a major crime investigation. The landlord was sort of pissed, actually."

Brennan laughed. "I bet. Well… if I do find something in that apartment that can give us a fresh lead, then he won't have to worry about it for much longer. But… we're still going to wait until you're back at home. I'm not leaving you here alone. No matter how hard you try to make me."

"Bones, I think you don't understand the concept of a hospital. You see, these nice people in white coats save my life and keep me going until eventually—"

She shoved him on his good shoulder and he laughed, poking her in the ribs until she was scooted all the way to the far side of the bed. "Booth!"

"This compromise thing is going to kill me, woman."

"You better get used to it now, because I'm not going anywhere."

He tilted his head to the side. She saw his gaze slip to the ring that still sat on her finger: the pretty and unnecessary weapon of deceit which she had failed to get rid of thus far. Angela was refusing to take it back until they were out of the hospital and Hodgins seemed to only be amused by the exchange.

For a second, she considered cutting in with something, anything, that would dissuade him from the idea that was blossoming. She still didn't believe in marriage… right? That wasn't something that was going to change. It was still archaic. It was still unnecessary.

The only thing that had changed… was that it now sent nervous flutters to her stomach. And she couldn't quite bring herself to hate that fact.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_October 30__th__, 2011_

It was Sweets who ultimately accompanied her on her visit to Kaminski's apartment. The crime scene looked much the same as it had on her first visit; the furniture was in the same places and there was a large, semi-cleaned stain on the carpet where Kaminski's body had been laying. His clothing had been bagged up and numbered markers dotted their path as they walked gingerly through the place.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Sweets asked hesitantly, glancing around and wrinkling his nose. The apartment had acquired a layer of dust and an odd smell.

"We're looking for anything that might tie this murder to one of our suspects. Something that we wouldn't have noticed before, but that makes sense with all the evidence we've found since our initial search," Brennan answered, repeating verbatim what Booth has told her earlier that same day, after he'd gotten settled into their bed. He was back at the house for the first time since the shooting and she tried to stave off the reminders of the panic that came with leaving him alone there. He was healing satisfactorily, according to his doctor. He should be fine on his own, resting while she was away. When she got back, she'd make sure he took his medication and they'd have a home-cooked meal.

Yes, it was all going to be fine.

"Should you even be at a crime scene?" Sweets asked, glancing at her bulging stomach.

She scowled and turned her back on him, looking more closely at some trinkets on a shelving unit. "I'm perfectly capable of walking and observing."

"Sorry," he said hastily.

She didn't acknowledge it, snapping on a pair of gloves and taking down a picture frame. She opened the back with some minor difficulty and found what she'd been expecting; there were multiple photographs piled up under the top image.

"What's that?" Sweets moved to peer over her shoulder.

"Previous girlfriends," Brennan suggested with a shrug, passing it off to him. He flipped through the stack, pointing out a few faces that he recognized from suspects they had already talked to. The others, the ones at the back of the frame, were all girls from probably years earlier. None of them stood out. Kaminski had moved past them years ago, most likely.

They kept looking, Sweets putting the frame back together and returning it to the shelf.

Brennan moved around the corner and into the bedroom. This was not a room she had seen before; Booth had done an actual sweep of the apartment, but she had remained with the body in the main room until they had left to question the neighbors.

The bedroom held no answers. It was small and squished and the only furniture appeared to be the bed itself. A shelf on the wall had been functioning as a sort of nightstand, with a lamp and a an alarm clock but not much else. There were a few scraps of paper and she looked through them, but they all said very simple, vague things. They were just notes written before he went to sleep. _Pick up milk tomorrow. Call Ed back about the radiator. Do laundry this weekend. Need more printer paper. _

There was a book on the floor, tucked just under the edge of the bed. She knelt down and picked it up. It was a copy of the Bible. On a hunch, she let if fall open and discovered a folded piece of paper tucked into the pages, about three-fourths of the way into the book. Frowning, she pulled out the paper and unfolded it.

A list was written with precision, double-spaced in thickly penned handwriting.

_ Juan Ortiz._

_ Reggie Morton._

_ Caleb Smith._

_ Dale Richards._

_ Eduardo Jimenez._

_ Taylor Madison._

_ Rosalinda Harris._

Brennan frowned, using the bed to push herself back to her feet. She set the Bible down on the bed, but held onto the list. "Sweets?"

"In the study," she heard his muffled reply through the wall.

A cool breeze made her shiver as she stepped towards the door and she stopped short and turned to see the curtains billow as the wind slipped in through the half-open window. Perplexed, she changed direction and moved back towards the wall. No one had been here in months; the window shouldn't have been open. Maybe someone had broken in weeks ago, when the scene had been long abandoned… perhaps there was some sort of evidence.

Maybe this was the lead they had been hoping for.

The window was above the fire escape and she knelt again, poked her head out, and looked around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. There were some crumpled leaves scattered about, a few of them caked with mud.

Hodgins extracting that mud-caked leaf out of the sole of Ortiz's boot flew into her mind. There were only a few of the leaves and no trees they would have come from. They had been caught here, in the frame of the fire escape and on the windowsill. But the team had already ruled out the fire escape as the entry point. It was old and not up to proper standards… the bottom of it was too far up for a person to reach from the ground. Not unless they were a very skilled climber. The building had put in a new fire escape at the end of the hallway, right outside Kaminski's door. Anyone climbing that one would have been caught on the security camera.

Brennan remembered the suggestion, early on, that someone could have used a rope to climb to the balcony. _Or to the old fire escape_, she thought. She picked up a small handful of the leaves, pulling her head back into the apartment and taking out an evidence bag from her coat. Hodgins could make a match on these and then they could put together the rest of the pieces.

As she began to pull herself to her feet, ready to find Sweets and disclose her findings, she suddenly found a knife at her throat and a gloved hand pushed her back down onto her knees.

**So, I like cliffhangers, as you might already know if you read a few of my other stories. I promise that the wait this time around will be more reasonable, though. Also, please click the wonderful, revamped review button and let me know what you thought.**

**Anybody got any guesses on who is behind all of this? I'd love to hear your theories.  
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	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Hey everyone! Happy Friday! Please note that this chapter goes back in time a little, to fill in some missing details from Sweets POV as well as to catch up on what has been going on with Shaw. **_  
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_Chapter 21_

_Five Days Ago_

_October 25__th__, 2011_

"I should have been allowed on the mission," Sweets insisted, pacing the narrow hallway. Agent Culver stood off to the side, arms crossed, leaning against the wall beside the empty, stiff-backed bench that both of them were avoiding. "I should have… _been_ there…"

"You might have passed through your tests to be a full field agent, Doc, but that doesn't mean you're ready to go on major missions. You haven't even been tested in the actual field."

"I don't care! She needed me, and I wasn't there. But I _could _have been, and I _should_ have-"

"Should have what? Argued some more? Delayed the team? Come on, doctor, we both know that wouldn't have accomplished anything."

The hospital smelled weird. Strong with the scents of disinfectants and rubber gloves. It was more powerful than in the lab, and that was what made Sweets notice it more than anything else. Nurses bustled past in bright scrubs and doors opened and closed. Steady beeping sounds of various machines and the clicking of keyboards from the waiting room desk up the hall were louder, more noticeable, than they would have been under normal circumstances. His senses were heightened, and he knew it.

His team was up that hallway. Sitting together, waiting on news. He was here, because he had a duty to both of these people but most foremost to Shaw. The woman he had sworn to protect, both because of his job and because of his personal interest. He had compromised them both by getting too involved, by not insisting that someone else take over his position when he became invested in a relationship with her instead of in working the case details. Right off the bat he should have suggested the job to someone else; he had known he was interested and would get distracted.

Maybe that could have prevented this from ever happening… someone who was more vigilant. Someone who was in control of their emotions, who was focused solely on working with her towards the goal of getting the information from the night club and getting her out safe from the mission. Now, that was all blown to hell.

He only had himself to blame for it. He had to be here, and Shaw had to be okay. He couldn't face a world where there was any alternative to that. Shaw and Booth both had to make it out of this.

Sweets knew, far too well, what was on the line. And he was starting to have alarming flashbacks that told him just how bad it was going to get.

"Well we'll never know!" Sweets snapped under his breath. "And now… now Agent Booth is in surgery, unresponsive on arrival with god-only-knows what sort of chances, and my… my sort-of girlfriend is being treated by a specialized team because she's been tortured and is probably facing some sort of post-traumatic stress. Why won't they _tell_ me anything? I should have been allowed in there by now…"

"You've got a room number. That's better than the rest of your team out there waiting to hear about Agent Booth."

Sweets sighed. "Yeah. I know. If he doesn't make it…"

"Then you'll deal with that when the time comes."

"You don't understand," Sweets groaned, stopping his pacing long enough to run a hand through his sweat-slicked hair as he closed his eyes. "We've already _been_ through losing Agent Booth once before. You weren't there; you didn't see what that _did."_

"I read the file," Culver replied nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side. Sweets paused.

"Wait, what?"

He wasn't in the mood to deal with this logically or professionally. Under normal circumstances he would understand profiling new members of a joint taskforce. Right now, he was just hearing that Culver had been poking into their business and was likely misinterpreting the pain these people had been through. Pain that, much like the situation Shaw was facing, was directly related to Sweets.

His fault.

"The file. I read it when our teams were first paired together for this investigation." Culver continued. "It came up while I was doing my research."

"You… profiled my team?"

"Sort of. I make it a habit to know the people I work with. Some might call it being nosy, but I call it being well-informed."

Sweets shook his head to clear it. He had a headache. His brain felt fuzzy and out of focus. He thought he might be sick if he didn't hear news about the two agents' conditions soon. "No… no, you still don't get it. You had to be there to get it. When that woman pulled out the gun, right in the middle of the _one_ relaxed setting I think I've ever seen this team in…"

"Chaos broke loose. She shot Agent Booth in the chest, and went for Dr. Brennan when she realized what she had done. But Dr. Brennan beat her to it. Clean shot straight through the neck. Hell of an aim she's got."

"That's what happened, but there were two weeks after that… two weeks when no one knew that Agent Booth was alive. For all intents and purposes… he was dead."

"The report mentioned that," Culver agreed with a nod. "And then he reappeared at the funeral to apprehend the suspect."

"If he hadn't come back… the entire team would have fallen apart," Sweets continued in a low undertone, eyes closed and head tilted back. "I knew… I knew that Booth was alive, but I kept it to myself. He had a list of people who he wanted the truth to be told to, but I didn't honor it."

Now Culver frowned, his interest rising. "Why?"

"It was stupid. A test, of sorts. I wanted to see how they would react to it. At the time… I was still gathering data on them, myself. They were a family that wouldn't quite let me in, and I… I betrayed them, because I was the outsider and I was supposed to be reporting on them to my boss. So that he could decide whether or not the team needed to be broken up. Whether or not they had gotten too close together, in a way that would jeopardize the cases they were working. Cullen, at the time… had been concerned that Booth and Brennan might be at a point where they would risk the lives of civilians in order to protect each other, if it came down to it. I was of similar mind, and when Booth's list told Cullen to inform only his family and Brennan, I advised against telling Brennan."

"No one on the team knew, then."

"Precisely."

He didn't say anything more than that. Culver didn't need to know the rest of the details, and Sweets had no plans to tell him. They were personal, and private. These people who he had once betrayed he would now give his life to protect, and that meant that the details of those two weeks were his to carry alone. They were horrible, and painful, and that much would be evident to anyone who knew of Booth's faked death. But the extent of the pain was more than Sweets had ever shared, even with Cullen.

In the end, he had told his boss that Booth and Brennan were fit to continue working with each other. Not because he believed they were, and not because they had asked him to lie for them… but because he trusted them to protect each other _while_ protecting the public. They wouldn't let anyone down, no matter what happened. These people were strong, and united, and they did not fail.

Not unless one of them was cut away.

The one time that Brennan had let any signs of the deep turmoil she was experiencing during those two weeks show, Sweets had been in the lab. He had stood by the doors and watched, silent as a statue and frozen just the same as she cried out the single sentence, a sob in her throat and tears flashing in fiery eyes, before flying into her office and slamming the door in her wake.

_"He's gone and I'm not Bones anymore."_

Sweets shivered.

He'd almost told her. Almost followed her to her office, let himself in against her probably furious demands, and told her outright that Booth was alive. He'd have given her the phone number and waited there while she called it, to make sure she got through to him, to make sure that she knew and that the suffering would stop.

He hadn't, though. He had turned and walked back out of the Jeffersonian.

And in his head, in the years that followed, he replayed that day over and over again, visualizing the ways he would do it differently if only he was given the chance.

"Agent Sweets?" A nurse had appeared, and she was looking between the two of them, clutching a clipboard.

"That's me," Sweets answered at once, his voice an octave too high. He straightened up and stepping forward, clenching his hands against the trembling.

"Agent Genny Shaw says she's ready to see you now."

He blew out the breath he'd been holding. "How is she?" he demanded.

"Her injuries will all heal," the nurse answered simply, before leading him the door and showing him inside. Culver vanished. Whether he went down the hall to wait with the others or back to the FBI to deal with the aftermath of that evening's raid, Sweets didn't know. Nor did he really care, in that moment.

"Hey," he said softly, pausing only a few feet from the door, barely halfway to the bed. Shaw was sitting up, swathed in the white of the bed. It made her looks small, and fragile. Her left hand and wrist were completely covered in a cast, her lip was split, and bandages covered a great number of cuts. He tried not to stare.

"Hey," she echoed, her voice croaking. He cleared her throat, attempting to offer him something of a smile. It was pained, though, and he could see the fog of the medication in her gaze. He moved closer, and claimed the seat by her bedside.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I just woke up from a nightmare, only I keep remembering it was real," she said, the pain killers making her honest.

He grimaced, and there was a long pause.

"I'm so sorry we didn't get you out of there sooner," he whispered.

She regarded him a moment, and then answered seriously, "They were preparing something with a blowtorch and a screwdriver. I'd say you were right on time."

He reached for her hand, and she twined her fingers with his, giving a gentle squeeze.

"I wasn't there," he admitted quietly.

"I know," she answered, not a trace of animosity in her tone. "But you were a part of the team that helped find where I was, and I'm glad to know you weren't in the line of fire." Now, she winced and looked towards the door before turning a pleading look on him. "What do you know about Agent Booth's condition? The nurses won't answer any of my questions."

Sweets sighed. "He's in surgery now… we don't know anything for sure."

"I saw him go down," Shaw said after a pause. She wasn't meeting his eyes, but was instead staring at her free hand, rested across her lap. "They took my blindfold off, and then we heard the shots, and he fell against the wall… grabbed at his arm. I don't know what happened, but he must have lost a lot of blood right off, or the pain was too much… but he just slid down to the ground."

"He's in good hands; they're going to get him patched up. He'll make it through this."

"And if he doesn't?" she challenged. "Do you realize… Lance, I joined the FBI and I heard _legends_ about Booth and his team. He was everything I wanted to be; he was a leader and a team player, the guy that everyone looked to for solutions. He had the highest closing rate of any agent at the DC branch. Getting to work with him was the biggest break I thought I'd ever get. I _can't_ become the reason for his death."

"He won't die," Sweets tried desperately, but the doubt he had for his own words worked against him. She could see his lack of conviction, the fear in his eyes.

"It would have been easier if they had just killed me," she whispered, closing her eyes and ignoring him completely. She pulled her hand out of his grasp and reached it up to touch the bandage across her forehead, covering a deep gash.

Sweets had no clue what he was supposed to say. For once, the man with all the answers felt empty. What was he supposed to tell her that would make her feel better? She had been kidnapped and tortured for information. Information which she hadn't given up. She had nearly died for her efforts, and now here she was putting the blame on herself.

"Could you just… leave for a while?" she asked bluntly. "Go get some food. Some coffee. I'll… see you later."

"I'll be back," he said at the door, the statement becoming a question.

"See you later," she responded, and he nodded before closing the door in his wake.

Down the hall, he found the team where he had left them. Brennan was alone in the corner, and Sweets felt a dread-filled burden piling up on his shoulders when she stiffened and didn't return his greeting, staring forcibly at the tile beneath her feet. Inexplicably, there was a ring on her finger that he knew belonged to Angela. The others stood up to greet him, asking questions. Angela offered a hug, which he gratefully accepted.

"How's Shaw?" Cam asked.

"Healing. She… has a lot to work through. It's going to be a while before she's back in the field. But she's going to make a full recovery."

"Good. That's… really, really good. We'll visit when we can. Right now, though…"

"Yeah, I understand," Sweets agreed immediately, looking around at their team. "You need to stay here. Have you… uh, heard anything, yet?"

All around him, heads shook regretfully. "There's been nothing," Hodgins said with a sigh. "All we can do now is wait for them to tell us when something changes."

Reluctantly, Sweets returned to the room where the bitter and bleak Shaw was waiting for him. Her eyes were closed, but they opened when he reclaimed his seat. He looked at her and he saw Genny, the funny, intuitive friend and lover whom he had fallen for. He saw her, but it was through a dark veil. She was hiding and cold, her eyes not quite the right shade and the wounds making her smooth, happy edges rough and forbidding.

He didn't try to hold her hand again.

"A nurse dropped by," she informed him. "She told me that I'll likely be discharged in a few hours. I'm sure I could get myself out of here now, though, if I tried."

"And… are you going to try?"

"Maybe in a little while. This bed is surprisingly comfortable, at the moment."

He nodded. "You'll be heading back to your real apartment."

For the first time since her rescue, he saw a ghost of a smile flicker across her lips. "Yes. It will be… nice. Being home." She tilted her head to the side. "Did you get any news on Booth's condition?"

"They still don't know anything. They're waiting, just like we are. I'm sure someone will tell us when that changes."

"Right."

There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but none of them fit the situation. Mostly, he wanted to know what they were, now. She had asked for a break, because of the case. But was it just because of the case, or because of something else? Were they anything, anymore, or were they permanently over?

And then there were the other things that he needed to know, but could not ask about. What had they done to her, while she'd been held captive? Had she said anything at all? Had she learned anything from listening to her captors?

The weight of the unspoken words, the weight of the burden he had gained from Brennan in the waiting room… it was all building up. He had no idea how to escape from under it, how to make things better. Maybe that wasn't even possible anymore. Maybe it was all out of his hands. He just wasn't sure if he could accept that, though. These people were his entire world. They were the family that had taken him in despite his flaws and he felt that every misstep that he took was letting them down. Every word he could not voice was another blow against their family.

How could he keep this going, when he couldn't even get out a sentence, couldn't even formulate the apologies that so badly needed a voice?

Shaw drifted off to sleep under the medication and the pull of the silence around them, and he stayed for a while before he eventually felt the need to slip from the room. From there, he paced through the halls, hardly paying attention to where he was going but finding that he didn't care. He just needed to keep walking.

Eventually he found himself at the entrance to a small courtyard, and he stepped outside. It was cool and shadowy, the sky a pale blue overcast with thin clouds. It was just past four o'clock, according to his watch, but it felt more like the early hours of the morning. This was a day that had not ended, and after spending the past few hours in the hospital it had begun to feel like more time must have passed. Surely this entire ordeal had lasted days, not hours. Yet, it had been that very morning that he had made that frantic call to Booth.

Now, less than twenty-four hours later, Shaw was in the hospital recovering, and Booth was in surgery with a bullet in his arm.

None of this seemed real.

The past few years felt like a blur, all rushing up to this moment in time. Years of getting to know these people, years of watching their struggles and their celebrations. Years of getting to know each and every one of them. Coming to know them as not only friends, but family as well. He had watched, and impeded, the evolution of the Booth and Brennan dynamic. All for what, exactly? He had been playing with fire, working against the inevitable.

It had seen seemed like such a good idea, at the time, showing Booth those brain scans. He had observed Brennan, after all. He knew what the slender thread she was balanced on looked like. He knew that Booth was the very catalyst that could make it snap.

Another mistake, another misinterpretation. The doubt from that moment, straining their relationship, working it down until the day he turned the tables and told them to go for it. He had let his personal involvement get in the way. He had put his desire for their success, in the wake of the damage he had already inflicted, ahead of logic and reason and professionalism. And because of that, he had nearly ruined their chances completely.

Here they were, the perfect couple, the very cornerstones of the foundation that this team was built on, and they had let him into their family and accepted him as one of their own despite all that he had done against them. They didn't understand. They couldn't possibly understand the damage he had done. They would never have let him in, otherwise.

And it was because of him, again, that they were here now. He didn't belong at the FBI. He was a failure and a danger to those around him. He put them all at risk.

He bowed his head. This was all his fault. Failing to protect Shaw had meant failing to protect Booth, and thereby failing to protect Brennan and the entirety of the Jeffersonian family.

When he eventually made his way back inside and wandered through the halls until he came upon familiar ground and could navigate himself back to Shaw's room, he found Angela and Hodgins inside, talking with her.

"Sweets, there you are," Angela said, beaming. "We were getting worried."

"Booth is out of surgery," Hodgins informed him eagerly. "They've got him in a room; Brennan's up with him now, the rest of us are giving them a little time. The doctors told us that he should make a full recovery."

"Thank goodness," Sweets breathed, accepting another hug from Angela and a clap on the shoulder from Hodgins.

"Well, we'll leave the two of you alone," Angela said, glancing between them. "Glad to see you're okay, Shaw. We'll be in touch about those plans for Thanksgiving."

"Thanks," Shaw responded, raising a hand in farewell as they stepped out. The door shut behind them, and Sweets cleared his throat self-consciously, moving back to his seat but standing beside it uncertainly.

"I woke up and you weren't here. Did you get that coffee?" he was glad to at least hear a hopeful note in her voice.

"I went for a walk," he told her. "I… needed to clear my head."

Hearing the news about Booth seemed to have brightened her mood exponentially. She smiled and nodded towards the chair, indicating he should sit down. He dropped heavily, and was surprised when she reached for his hand.

"We have… a lot of things that we need to talk about."

He nodded silently, unsure of where to go with that. What she was expecting, at this point, was beyond him.

There was a knock on the door, and they both turned.

Agent Dane Ohlsen stepped inside. "Agent Shaw, Dr. Sweets," he greeted them. "I'm here to take Agent Shaw's statement."

Sweets swallowed and chanced a glance in her direction. "Fine," she said simply, not betraying any emotions.

"Do you want me to..?" Sweets began hesitantly.

"You can stay," she answered after only a slight pause.

He nodded, unsure of whether or not he was going to regret that answer in a moment.

Ohlsen dragged a second chair over, claiming the opposite side of the bed. He pulled out a pad of paper with the familiar FBI seal in the top corner.

"Let's start from the beginning, okay?"

Shaw nodded agreeably, and began a very straightforward, evidence-based recounting of the events. "I was returning back to the safe house from my assignment when two men dressed in black jumped me from behind. I fought them, but one of them had a needle and injected me with something that knocked me out. When I woke up next, I was in the back of what was probably a van of some sort. The assailants had left the bag over my head and bound my wrists and ankles with ropes. I was just starting to work on the knots when the van stopped, and the engine shut off. They dragged me out and we started down a hill. I fought them again, and they… knocked me over the head with something. The butt of one of their guns, I think. Then they dragged me the rest of the way, and into the building."

"This is the same building that the agents found you in?" Ohlsen interrupted.

"Yes, there was only one location."

"Alright. Go on."

"Inside, they brought me into that room I was found in, and tied me to the chair. They took the bag off of my head and told me that I was going to give them the information that they wanted. I told them to go to hell."

Sweets squeezed her hand, but she didn't acknowledge him.

"And then?" Ohlsen asked, his pen flying rapidly across the page.

"One of them snapped out a knife and gave me this," she pointed to the bandage on the side of her face. "He made some more threats, and I asked him what exactly he wanted to know, in order to see how much they knew about who I was. He told me not to play games, and that he knew I was an undercover plant. He wanted to know what we'd done with the girl."

"What girl?"

"Taylor, the one that we put in witness protection. I told him I didn't know where she was, and when he demanded to know what she'd told us, I told him I didn't know that either. He didn't like my answer much, and started in on breaking some of my fingers." She flexed the cast, wincing a bit at the memory. "I told him that I didn't know anything, that the mission hadn't been going well, that I was only the undercover plant and I didn't get feedback from the other side. And, of course, he then moved on to questioning me about how much I'd told the FBI."

"Can you identify the men?" Ohlsen asked, reaching for a file folder he'd brought with him. He pulled out a sheet printed with mug-shots and passed it to her.

"This one had the knife," she said, tapping the paper. "And this one was the other man who took me. And these…" she tapped two images, "Were the ones that were with me when the FBI rescued me."

Ohlsen nodded, making more notes and taking the page back.

"Those last two are dead," he informed her. "Reggie Morton and Marcus Crosby."

"Figured," she answered with a shrug, eyes hard. "Good. What about the other two?"

"Eduardo Jimenez and Caleb Smith. They were among the group that arrived during the raid. There were four of them, total, including an unidentified woman and Thomas Anders. Jimenez was injured but captured, and Smith got away with the woman. Anders was killed."

"Which one of them shot Agent Booth?" she demanded.

Ohlsen cleared his throat. "Jimenez."

She gritted her teeth. "I want to be there for his interrogation."

"They're already working on that. But you're welcome to the look at the recordings."

She nodded, but it was clear that she didn't think that was going to be enough.

"What happened next?" Ohlsen probed.

"Right. Smith joined in, demanding to know more about Taylor and where she was. He kept saying, 'where's Madison, what has she told you, what did you do with her?' Jimenez was irritated with him, and pulled him aside. I heard him say something about how they would get to that later. Smith argued that the boss would want to know that first, but Jimenez was clearly in charge so Smith backed down. After that, they gagged me, checked the ropes, and went back into the other room. They didn't return until the morning, when they tried again. They were… less than thrilled that I wasn't ready to answer their questions. Jimenez gave me this," she raised her hand to the bandaged gash that ran across her forehead. "They kept asking questions, demanding to know how much I knew, and when I didn't answer they knocked the chair over and started kicking."

Sweets winced, picturing the x-rays he had seen.

"After that… they left the room. A while later I heard a car door shut, and then the door to the building opened and the two of them had a conversation with the newcomers that I couldn't hear most of. I did hear them say that they hadn't gotten anything out of me, and that these newcomers were not to give me any food or water. Not that that was much of a surprise.

"The two new guards came in after the first two had gone. They had a different technique; instead of asking questions they went straight to the attack. When they were finished… beating me," for the first time, her voice wavered, "They left me alone in the room. When they came back, probably an hour later, they started in with the questions. One at a time, they came in the room and demanded answers. I refused to say anything." Her head tilted up with pride, "They were fairly pissed off, but they gave up for a while and left me alone. The short one, Morton, came back in first. He, like Jimenez, was a fan of knives. By the time they were ready to try again, they didn't get far before the agents arrived and took them down."

Ohlsen finished copying down her words and tapped his pen on the side of the clipboard. "Is that everything?"

"Yes. That's my full statement," Shaw said flatly.

"Thank you," the agent answered, getting to his feet and straightening his tie. "Oh, and Shaw?" he said as he moved towards the door. "Hope to see you back at work soon." He grinned and gave a salute, and Shaw actually managed a laugh.

"See you at the office, Dane."

Sweets was even less sure of what to say now than he had been before Ohlsen's arrival. When she said nothing, he went through a plethora of ideas in his head, casting all of them aside until finally he couldn't take it anymore and he just stood up and headed for the door, calling "I'm sorry," over his shoulder. She started to say something, but he was already out the door and moving down the hall.

His team was gone from the waiting area and he paced a moment, unsure of what to do, before he finally just dropped into a chair. Maybe someone would come by and tell him where Booth's room was. Or maybe he'd figure out what to do with Shaw while he waited. Either way, he wasn't ready just yet to go back. He knew he'd have to eventually, and that he probably had not picked the wisest path by running out, but at the moment he needed to clear his head.

To do that, he needed to be out of that room.

He waited for over half an hour before someone familiar came by. Cam stopped short in surprise when she spotted him, and then stepped over to stand in front of him.

"I thought you'd be in with Shaw… what are you doing out here?"

"Trying to figure out my life," he said with a humorless laugh. "Where are the others?"

"We just got some dinner in the cafeteria; I was coming through here on my way to visit Shaw. They'll all be back up here in a few minutes, though…"

He nodded slowly. "Right."

"Is something going on that I should know about?" Cam asked, eyebrows raising questioningly.

Sweets sighed, and then decided that he might as well explain. After all, that was the advice he would give were he offering therapy to himself in this situation. "Yes, actually. I have… no clue how to talk to Genny about what happened. She just gave her statement to Ohlsen, and I swear she's handling this better than I am…"

"It's not the same, Sweets," Cam murmured quietly. "When you know the person that's gone through this situation, and you know them as _more_ than a client… it's going to be harder to figure out the right things to say. When I was a cop up in New York, I was great at talking to the victim's families. But then one day someone I knew was killed in the line of duty and I just… couldn't do it. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just… something you have to adjust to. And Shaw… she's tough, but nobody is _that_ tough. I've seen Dr. Brennan after events like this, and Booth always eventually figures out how to get under that shell and help her."

"I'd love to get some advice from him, but something tells me this isn't the time," Sweets said, shaking his head. "How is he, by the way?"

"Sleeping. He woke up for a few minutes, but he was out of it and they put him back under. Brennan was with him; she hasn't left his side since they allowed her into the room."

Sweets swallowed sharply, biting back guilt as he remembered where he was supposed to be right now. Where he wanted to be. He didn't get up, though.

A blur of voices sounded from around the corner and the team appeared together with fresh coffee cups. They gathered around and found their seats. Cam refused the extra coffee they had brought back with them, pointing determinedly at Sweets, who gave in and accepted the offer.

They all looked tired, despite the caffeine. Angela was leaning on Hodgins' shoulder and Wendell's head had fallen back and his eyes were closed.

"You should all go home for the night," Sweets suggested. "There isn't anything more for you to do, here."

"Your dad has been watching Michael for a long time now," Hodgins pointed out to Angela.

"I'm sure Brennan will call everyone if anything changes overnight," Sweets added.

"We can come back in the morning," Cam added. "Sleep would do us all some good."

Angela looked doubtful. "If anything happens…" she didn't finish the thought. Sweets could fill in the blanks. If anything happened, Brennan wouldn't _be _in any state to call the rest of them. And Angela, as her best friend, didn't want to leave her here alone in the case that something went wrong.

"He's already woken up, and the doctors are sure he's going to be awake fully by tomorrow," Hodgins said. "Come on, Ange. Let's get home… we can come back early if you're really that worried."

"I can check in on Booth and Brennan if you want," Sweets offered.

They all turned to him, and then there were nods. Nobody questioned that he was staying here, with Shaw.

Slowly, they stood and departed, with Angela pulling Hodgins back upstairs to say a last farewell to Brennan.

Sweets turned and made his way back to Shaw's room. He still had no idea what he was going to say, but he knew that he had to say something.

"I was starting to wonder if you were coming back," she said when he knocked and poked his head into the room. He stepped in, feeling sheepish as he moved back to his seat. It couldn't have looked good, him jumping up and dodging out of the room like that. "I'm glad you're back," she continued, looking at him with her piercing, dark eyes. Searching for answers. "I have a question," she said just as he went to open his mouth to try and give another apology. "Why did you say you were sorry, before you left?"

He opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words for a long moment. Finally, he whispered out, "Because it's my fault."

She blinked, her brows knitting together. "What?"

"It's my fault. All of this. And… I'm sorry."

Slowly, she shook her head. "Lance, this isn't your fault. Why would you even… what makes you think that?"

"Because I should have been paying more attention. I should have been… watching more closely. I shouldn't have let them have the chance to take you. I should have told Hacker to have someone watching the security feeds twenty-four-seven."

"That would have been a waste of time. And there was nothing suspicious about that night in particular that would have warranted extra attention. It was just another night… we had no way of knowing that it was going to end that way."

"But… what happened to you…"

"Sucked," she filled in for him. "It absolutely sucked. And I would gladly turn back the clock to make it _not_ happen, but I can't do that."

"If I hadn't been the one assigned to you, though… then this wouldn't have happened. I let my personal involvement get in the way. I should have asked somebody else to take over the professional duties when we became involved."

"That would have made it a lot less fun, don't you think?" He stared, open-mouthed, with no clue what to say in response. "Come on, Lance. This mission was the most boring undercover case you've probably ever seen. I would have gone crazy if I hadn't had something to look forward to when I came home. And we gained actual intel from the mission, so it wasn't a waste of time. Working with you made that possible."

He was frowning, shaking his head, but she was smiling and he knew that he had no logical argument to go against what she was saying.

"And sure, this isn't going to be easy," she continued, "Because things like this take time to get over… I've had the pleasure of doing a number of reports on traumatic stress during my time at the academy, so I'm already bracing for the effects and I've already gone through a few nightmares… but I'm not about to let this get the better of me. And I happen to know an _excellent_ psychologist who I think can help me out."

She squeezed his hand, and his eyes widened.

"In fact," she said, hesitating for the first time, "I was wondering if you might like to keep my company for the next few days when I get out of here. Something about my having a concussion… and I wouldn't say no to some of that chicken noodle soup you're so good at making."

"That was from a can."

"Yeah, I know."

He leaned forward, and their noses brushed before their lips. It was familiar, but it seemed different. Tender, slow. More of an exploration than they were used to.

It was nice.

Really, really nice.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_October 26__th__, 2011_

They stopped by Booth's room together, before they left the hospital. Shaw had checked herself out, and Sweets carried her small bag of personal things and extra clothes from home slung over his shoulder. The night before he had gone to check on Brennan and found her asleep, using her arm for a pillow with her fingers clutched with Booth's. He had hovered a moment in the door, caught by the scene, before finally slipping out and carefully shutting the door behind him.

Today, he and Shaw passed by the team on their way in. The group had gathered again after getting a quick breakfast together at the Diner, and upon checking in on the room had found Booth awake and talking. A nurse had apparently kicked them out when she discovered the overflow of guests in her patient's room.

Now, when he and Shaw stepped inside, he found the two of them watching some program on Booth's television.

"Shaw," Booth said in surprise, eyes going wide.

"Hello Agent Booth," she said, smiling. "Glad to see you're up and awake at last."

"Glad to see you, too," he echoed, his eyes sweeping over her and taking in the bandages, which had been changed and thankfully looked less severe in the light of the new day. "We were just talking about the case, actually."

"And about how we're taking a short break from it," Brennan stressed, cutting her eyes in his direction with what was undoubtedly a warning glare.

"I just gave my statement yesterday," Shaw informed him. "So they should have it on file for you to look over while you work on the rest of the case."

"Are you not… planning to be involved?" Brennan asked, frowning.

"At the moment… no," Shaw answered honestly. "I'm going to go home and relax with Lance. I think I've had enough excitement relating to the FBI, lately."

Brennan smiled. "That sounds like a good plan."

Booth nodded slowly. "I'll be in touch if I need anything for the case, but other than that… you have definitely earned some time off. Take your time getting back. We'll manage without you for now. Although we might need you around, Sweets," he added.

"Of course," Sweets said with a rapid nod. "I'm taking off the rest of today, but I have appointments to keep for tomorrow and I'll be available for field work if necessary."

Brennan looked less than pleased with all the talk of work, and Sweets had to marvel at the change that she had gone through in the past few months. It had nothing to do with the pregnancy, and everything to do with the evolution of her relationship with Booth. Here was the woman who had once been all about her job, about professionalism and following the rules, and she was insisting on taking time off and playing it safe and protecting the relationship.

It was amazing, and he felt a warm glow of content as he put an arm around Shaw and said his farewells to the duo. Everyone seemed to be on the right track. For once, the whole team was in harmony, the tension gone and the relief taking root.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_October 30__th__, 2011_

Sweets had been surprised by the call. The past few days had been spent traded evenly between time at home with Shaw and time at work catching up on appointments and paperwork. He had rarely been out in the bullpen and he hadn't found the time to visit the hospital again although he had been informed that Booth was out of the hospital and settling at home as of that morning. Getting the call from his boss had thrown a wrench into his afternoon plans, which had involved going out to get flowers and ingredients for the dinner he had been intending to make.

Nonetheless, it was always nice to feel involved and he had missed seeing the team as of late. Hacker informed him that he was going as an agent to supervise Brennan on her re-evaluation of the crime scene at Kaminski's apartment.

On the ride over, they talked about the case. She was actually more interested than she had been at the hospital, and he suspected that Booth being home had a lot to do with that.

"When we talked to Tania, though, she appeared to be sincere about her husband's lack of concern in relation to her dealings with Kaminski," Brennan was saying as they stopped at a red light.

"If he had an affair of his own, that would make sense. In a way, to him that would give him justification. Sort of like saying… 'well I did this but so did you.' It's a way to make him feel less like he's done something wrong. Still, it might be a good idea to bring him in for questioning."

"We've already run checks on him and he was at work during the time when Kaminski was murdered."

"That doesn't mean he wasn't capable of hiring someone. Although, it would be very uncommon for a regular businessman to employ a female killer, and we are almost certain that the killer was indeed female. The method of killing also showed a personal touch, which seems to clash with cold-blooded murder-for-hire."

Brennan nodded. "That's what Booth said when I brought it up."

"Okay, so we need to focus on the other motives that we have. Jealousy, for one. We haven't looked much at Anna Pollack, and she was the one that the most distraught by his death. That could be guilt or remorse."

"Booth didn't seem to think so, when we questioned her after she found the body. He tends to have a much better reading on people than I do."

"What about another woman within the trafficking operation, then? There was a woman at the raid; she got away."

"That's very possible, but it still doesn't explain why she didn't take the laptop with her, leaving Shadwick to go back for it."

"Right." He sighed. Nothing was tying together the way it normally would be, this late into an investigation. It had never taken them this long to put together the details of a murder investigation. "Maybe we're making this too complicated," he suggested. "Maybe this has nothing to do with the women he was sleeping with or the article he was writing on the drug trafficking operation."

"That's a theory," she agreed begrudgingly, but she didn't seem too willing to accept it just yet. Sweets parked the car in the lot next to the apartment building.

"Let's see what we can find to put us on a new track, then," he said, shutting off the engine and popping his door open.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Sweets asked hesitantly, glancing around and wrinkling his nose as they stepped carefully through the first room. The place was disgusting and smelled of must and something unidentifiable that could probably be linked to the dead body that had once been on the floor.

"We're looking for anything that might tie this murder to one of our suspects. Something that we wouldn't have noticed before, but that makes sense with all the evidence we've found since our initial search," Brennan answered.

"Should you even be at a crime scene?" Sweets asked, chancing a glance towards her swollen stomach. She looked like she was pretty far along, even at six months.

She frowned and turned away from him, studying the trinkets that lined a shelving unit. "I'm perfectly capable of walking and observing."

"Sorry," he responded quickly. She still had that same biting tone and those sharp, dangerous eyes, even if she had become more people oriented and more open-minded as of late.

If she heard him she didn't say anything in response, pulling on a pair of gloves and taking a picture frame down from the shelf.

"What's that?" Sweets moved to peer over her shoulder. She had pried open the back and exposed a stack of photographs that were piled up behind the top image.

"Previous girlfriends," Brennan suggested with a shrug, passing it off to him after glancing through them. He flipped through the stack himself, recognizing a few faces from suspects they had talked to during the investigation. The ones he didn't recognize at all were mostly at the back of the frame. Those were likely the girls he had dated years earlier. The pictures appeared to a form of souvenir, as far as he was concerned. There was nothing remarkable about any of them.

Sweets put the frame back together and returned it to the shelf, and he watched as Brennan slipped down the hall. He moved to follow her, heading into the bathroom while she took the bedroom. The bathroom was a cramped little space, featuring a toilet, a small sink with barely any counter space, and a shower. The medicine cabinet revealed a bottle of aspirin, some eye drops, a collection of condoms, and some cough medicine. A few cough drops lay scattered on a shelf in the dust. The cabinet below the sink held only a mostly empty bottle of cleaner and a few dirty sponges. He moved on to the study.

This room, too, was small. There was a desk with a chair and a television on top of a cardboard box. The desk drawers were stuffed to capacity with a number of things. One mainly featured dirty tissues and candy wrappers; another overflowed with pens, pencils, paper clips, and other stationary supplies. The file cabinet was stuffed with information on past cases, but even as he went through it he knew he wasn't going to find anything on this investigation. There was no way Booth and the other agents would have missed that.

As he was closing the drawer again, though, he had trouble getting it to slide properly. Getting down on his knees beside the desk, he pulled it out fully and reached his fingers into the cracks on all sides, finally extracting a crumpled piece of paper with a piece of dusty tape attached at both ends. It had clearly been attached to the side of the drawer at some point or another.

On the paper was a list of names, some of them marked off with red pen.

_Katie Meyers X  
><em>

_ Celia Richards_

_Maya Rivera X  
><em>

_Julia Turner X  
><em>

_ Nina Hearst_

_ Taylor Madison_

_ Rosalinda Harris_

He frowned. They were all waitresses at the club; he recognized the names from Shaw's investigation. Why was Kaminski looking at them, specifically, though? Was he looking for some sort of weakness, a mole that would give him an exclusive? Or was he simply being himself, as was the more likely alternative, and trying to take home each of the girls in turn?

"Sweets?" came Brennan's muted call from the other room.

"In the study," he called back, pushing himself to his feet and shutting the drawer. Maybe this was the break they had been looking for. This list could very well provide them with a new starting place for the investigation. They needed to think more like Kaminski; find out exactly where _he_ had been in both the investigation and his personal life. Then maybe they'd be able to find the answers they'd been hunting for these past few months.

He moved towards the door to the study and heard another door shut. Frowning, he stepped into the hallway to see that the door of the bedroom was now firmly shut. There was a muffled scream, and he pulled out his gun and tried the door. Locked, of course.

"Dr. Brennan!" he shouted.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The gloved hand pushed her back on to her knees and then clamped over her mouth before she could scream a warning to Sweets. She tried anyways, swinging out an elbow as she did so to jar her attacker in the knee, but received a sharp blow to the back of her head as the assailant dodged. Stars spun in front of her eyes, and she distantly felt her wrists being snapped into handcuffs around the curtain hook.

Her vision cleared, and she screamed out again as the door to the room was shut and locked. Her attacker was dressed completely in black, with a ski mask that only showed the eyes. Brennan frowned. The bone structure and figure appeared to be that of a woman.

A gag was shoved roughly in her mouth as she called for help again, just as the doorknob rattled.

"Dr. Brennan!" Sweets shouted.

The woman in black began to hurriedly search her, collecting the list from her pocket before moving to the rest of the room. She took the Bible as well, and then took a sweep of the room before dodging out the window. Brennan listened to the rattle of the old fire escape as she made her way down, while Sweets threw his shoulder into the door.

He wasn't the same scrawny psychologist as he had been. Brennan remembered all the talk of him becoming an agent, and Booth's doubts. And then she remembered the gun strapped easily to Sweets' belt, and how he had seemed almost normal with it there, unfazed by the changes. The door creaked as he threw himself into it again.

"Dr. Brennan!" he shouted. The lock gave way and he stumbled into the room, gun still drawn. He swept it through the room, eyes landing and focusing on Brennan when he saw no threats. She nudged her head in the direction of the window and he dashed to it and looked out.

"He's gone," Sweets said, pulling back inside and then leaning over her to remove the gag.

"It was a woman," she said at once, "Dressed all in black. She didn't say anything, but she searched me and took the paper that I found, along with the Bible it was in. She checked the room, too… I got the feeling she didn't know what she was looking for, but that she just wanted to stop me from finding anything. We're going to need a key for these handcuffs," she added.

Sweets dug into his pockets and pulled out the one he'd been issued, for his handcuffs.

"Oh, good," she said with a sigh, flexing her wrists once he'd gotten her unhooked.

"You're not hurt, right?" he asked helplessly.

"No… I'm fine." She reached up and found the thin scratch on her neck where the knife had slid across her skin. She found the tender spot on her skull next, and winced. "Just a blow to the head. She didn't come after you?"

"No, I didn't see her… I just heard the door shut and came out of the study. Why didn't she come looking to stop me, as well?"

"Out of time, maybe? Or maybe she wasn't expecting us to be here?"

"The coincidence would be outrageous if she didn't know we were coming," Sweets pointed out. "No, she had to have been aware. Perhaps she didn't want to risk coming up against a gun? Or she thought that what you found was more important than anything I might find? What was it, anyways?"

"A list… it was just a list of names. People that worked at the night club."

"Wait… these names?" he pulled out a list of his own and passed it off to her.

"The women are the same. Taylor and Rosalinda. The others on the list I found were all male names. Juan Ortiz was on there… I didn't recognize the others, though."

Sweets nodded slowly. "Alright, let's get you back to the Jeffersonian. Or to the hospital." He frowned, unsure.

"The Jeffersonian will be fine. I don't think I need any real medical attention, and Cam can tell me if I do or not."

"Alright, the lab it is," Sweets said, helping her to her feet. "The sooner this case is over, the better," he muttered under his breath.

"I have to agree with you," Brennan said on a sigh.

She really did hate this case.

**Alright! So that was a long one. I'm really hoping some of you have some more guesses on who is behind this, so pretty please let me know! Thanks for reading!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N- ...Hi. So it's been, uh... what? Three months or so? Heh. Yeah. I know, I'm a horrible updater. I could go on about my life getting in the way but that would be a bunch of lies because I have done nothing all summer besides lounge in the air conditioning watching How I Met Your Mother, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and Pretty Little Liars. Namely my non-updating came from a place called oh-my-god-I-have-to-bring-everything-together-to-a-cohesive-end-with-this-story-and-I-don't-know-how-ahhhhhh.  
><strong>

**And then I realized I have one short little week left before I return to college and I told myself that stuff needed to get done. So stuff got done, and this chapter appeared. I hope you all don't hate me, and that you enjoy this one. It's almost over, and I will update again shortly.  
><strong>

_Chapter 22_

_October 30__th__, 2011_

"What on Earth…" Cam stammered, eyes widening as they stepped into her office, Brennan leading the way. "What happened?" she demanded, immediately stepping forward. Brennan offered a pained smile.

"I think she might have a concussion," Sweets fretted, grimacing.

"Oh, Booth is going to have a stroke," the boss murmured, shaking her head. "Here… sit down and let me take a look at this. And for God's sake, Sweets, what are you doing back here? She should have been taken to the hospital."

"I… I thought…"

"Never mind. Just… tell me what happened."

Brennan winced as Cam probed at the sore spot on her head.

"We were searching the apartment," Sweets began, "And a woman dressed in black came up behind Brennan and caught her by surprise."

"She had a knife," Brennan added. "I was down on my knees collecting leaves from the fire escape outside the window, and she pinned me there and handcuffed me after hitting me over the head."

"And where were you?" Cam asked, turning on Sweets. "Weren't you there on the off-chance that something exactly like this were to happen?"

He rubbed a hand up and down on the back of his neck ruefully. "We split up to search faster?" He said, the statement coming out as a worried question.

"And this woman, she didn't come after you?" Cam continued.

"No."

"Hm," Cam murmured. "Alright. That's certainly an interesting turn in things… did you find anything while you were there?"

"I found a list of names tucked into a Bible, but the woman took both of those. She searched me, but I hadn't found anything else. By that time Sweets was trying to break down the door, so she jumped out the window and climbed down the fire escape."

"Do you still have the leaves?"

"Yes…" she reached to pull the bag out of her pocket. "I dropped them when she came up behind me, and she didn't seem very interested in taking them from me. If she had, it wouldn't have mattered. There were more on the fire escape and she didn't have the kind of time available to her to clean up those as well."

"Alright, we'll have Hodgins take a look at them… what are they, exactly?"

"Possibly the same type of foliage that was embedded in the sole of Ortiz's boot."

"Okay, then. That could give us… something, I'm sure. Anything else?"

Sweets produced the list he had found, passing it over to her in the sealed plastic baggie Brennan had provided him with.

"I don't recognize any of these… except for Taylor. Are the others also workers at the nightclub?"

"Exactly," Sweets responded with a bob of his head.

"So… Kaminski was focusing on them for some reason. That's definitely something we can look into. Maybe there's a reason he focused on them specifically."

"That's what I was thinking."

Cam frowned, nodding slowly and turning her attention back to Brennan. "You need to go to an actual hospital and make sure this isn't a concussion."

"I'm fine," Brennan insisted. "I'm not dizzy, I'm not nauseous or tired, and I obviously haven't passed out. I don't even have a headache, although if you keep touching it," she said, pulling her head away from Cam, "It does hurt, for clear reasons."

"Booth will kill me if I don't make sure. So, we are going to the hospital."

"Who's going to the hospital?" Angela had appeared in the doorway, a confused smile on her face that quickly faded into a look of alarm. "Bren, what happened?"

"I got hit on the head," Brennan said, before Cam or Sweets could start in with the long explanation.

Angela's gaze was locked on the thin red line on Brennan's neck, though.

"Bren, what the hell? I thought that apartment was supposed to be _safe_. And where were _you?"_ she added, turning on Sweets and poking a finger sharply towards his face. He immediately backed up a few paces.

"He was there, but we were… separated."

Angela blinked, and after a pause she marched forward and pulled Brennan to her feet. "I'm driving," she said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "And you are telling me _exactly_ what happened on the way. You two," she snapped, turning to Cam and Sweets, "Stay here and inform the team. Figure out our next move on this damn case. I want to be _done_ with it. First Shaw, then Booth, and now this…"

She dragged Brennan through the door.

"I'm fine," Brennan insisted, but Angela was hearing none of it.

"You could have _died_," she said at last, her voice low and deadly, once they were seated quietly in Angela's car.

"I know that," Brennan said with a sigh. "I'm not… used to being pregnant. Even now, after months. I don't have the reflexes or the physical capability to fight the way I normally would. And she used that to her benefit when she attacked."

Angela was silent as they pulled out of the Jeffersonian's garage.

"I just want this case to be over," she said at last, and Brennan glanced over and noticed, with alarm, that Angela's eyes were rimmed with unshed tears.

"Ange… I'm fine. Look, I'm right here. I just got hit on the head. That's it."

"And what about next time? Can you promise me that it's all going to be okay next time, Bren? I mean… you, and Booth, and this _case_…"

"Our jobs are dangerous," Brennan conceded. "But this case isn't _like_ other cases. Angela, you know that on most murder investigations people don't shoot at us or… hold us hostage or hit us over the head."

"But it could happen at any time. Honestly, I question our choice of work. A lot. We're parents, now: almost all of us at the lab. Hodgins and I with Michael, Cam with Michelle, and you and Booth with your as-of-yet unnamed little bundle of joy."

"…Are you not happy at the Jeffersonian, Ange?" Brennan asked seriously, alarm flaring up inside of her. She hadn't heard Angela talk about leaving the Jeffersonian since the first year they had worked together, when they had just begun to work alongside Booth and the FBI. Every now and then she would get the feeling that Angela was worried and thinking about the flaws with what they did for a living, but nothing had ever come of it.

"I am," Angela hedged, sighing. "I just… I don't know, Bren. I feel like we should be working someplace safe. And then I think about how well we work together, this whole team… how we're essentially a family and how we need each other. I can't leave. But I can't help wishing that all of us somehow worked in a different field, together, doing something that made us equally happy. Just without all the shooting and the dead bodies."

"Technically, we could all retire. Well… maybe not Cam or Wendell. But I am very wealthy, as is Hodgins, and that wealth translates to you and Booth."

"Would you be happy in retirement, though?"

"I honestly don't know. I still have my writing, and in all likelihood I would end up teaching anthropology after retiring from field duty, rather than leaving work entirely. Booth could take a desk job, get a promotion, or find a job teaching new recruits."

"I could go back to painting," Angela reasoned. "And Jack…" she frowned. "He'd probably start some sort of bug sanctuary. That's… a lovely thought."

Brennan laughed. "You'll have to talk to him about that one."

"Yes. No bugs anywhere near my house."

"There's still a lot of traveling you could do. Paris was your first actual trip together, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was. We've been talking about getting away again when Michael is a little older. My dad volunteered to babysit, but… I just can't see us going away without our son."

Brennan nodded slowly, hand drifting to her abdomen. She wondered when her and Booth would be able to get away for a vacation. Would she feel the way Angela did, and not wish to go anyplace without her child? It only made sense. She thought back to the summer house Booth had talked about getting. Maybe they could simply get a place on the beach or by a lake and escape to it when they felt the need for a vacation.

They pulled into the hospital parking lot.

"I wish these things would stop happening to you," Angela murmured before Brennan could open her door.

"You aren't the only one. But, realistically, these things could be happening to anyone. I just happen to have a higher risk because of my career choice."

Angela said nothing, just shook her head slightly and snapped off her seat belt. Brennan got the uncomfortable but distinct feeling that there was more that hadn't been said when it came to this conversation. And she couldn't help but wonder if Angela was legitimately angry with her.

Inside, they claimed two uncomfortably stiff seats in the corner of the waiting room and filled out paperwork until a doctor stopped on her way by and called her name, staring. "Temperance Brennan?"

"That's me," she said, blinking. She looked vaguely familiar.

The doctor pulled off her glasses and stepped over. "What are you doing back here?"

"Dr. Keller," she remembered suddenly. Booth's doctor from his shooting. "I… was hit on the head."

Dr. Keller's eyebrows went up. "By _what,_ exactly?"

"An unknown assailant," Angela supplied, leaning forward into their conversation. "Can you please just make sure she doesn't have a concussion?"

Sighing and taking a glance at her watch, Keller hesitated a moment and then motioned for them to follow her.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"No more field assignments," Booth stated firmly, eyes dark and serious as they met hers over the table.

"Agreed," she said with a nod. For once, they were both on the same side of the debate over her safety.

"We're just lucky that whoever that was didn't do any more damage today," Booth continued. "And that you don't have a concussion."

"I know." She pushed a grape tomato across her plate. "Sweets is really good in the field. Did you know that?"

Booth was quiet for a moment, and then he nodded, smiling just slightly. "Yeah, I did. He's come a long way."

"He was quite brave today. You know he broke open the door with his shoulder?"

"I might have skimmed your reports," Booth said, his smile now genuine.

"Of course you did."

"Hacker sent them to me. I think he's feeling some pity what with me trapped at home."

"Not too much, I hope. Neither of us are getting back in the field anytime soon. Not with the way things have been going."

"Relax, Bones. I'm on bed rest for now… and after that I'll stick to my desk. For a while, at least. Although once this case is closed…"

She nodded. "I know."

Everything lately seemed to be hinging on those seemingly simple words. _Once this case is closed_. How long had they been saying that for? What had once looked like a simple assignment had turned into the most dangerous case either of them had ever been involved with. Snipers and serial killers were starting to look tame, and that almost scared her more than anything else.

"We should go over everything again. There has to be a connection we're missing… something that can tell us what we're up against. _Who_ we're up against," Booth said, reaching for the thick file and flipping it open.

Brennan scooted her chair around to his side, and together they sorted through the evidence, scanning crime scene photos and images from the autopsy, looking through reports from the FBI; the only things left from the original investigation were in these papers. The rest had been taken from the lab during the raid and ensuing hostage situation.

"Maybe we should work with the others," Brennan said finally, rubbing the sore spot on her head with a wince. "While the two of us are a proficient team, they possess skills that we don't. And maybe Hodgins has some information from that foliage I collected by now. Have you talked to Cam?"

"Only when she called to check in; she didn't say anything about the case."

Brennan nodded. "Alright, we'll call again. They can join us here; no need to go to the lab."

An hour later the kitchen was crowded with Cam, Wendell, Sweets, Shaw, Hodgins, and Angela, smelling strongly of the Chinese food the latter two had picked up on the way.

Cam set down the container of mu shu pork. "Alright, we should do an overview." She flipped through the pages in front of her. "I've got the FBI copies of my autopsy report ."

"I have my psychological analysis of the killer, and a map of the club locations," Sweets supplied.

Wendell held up a notebook. "I've got my personal notes from the Kaminski investigation, and the information about the possible murder weapon."

"All of my notes about the undercover operation are in here," Shaw said, tapping her laptop.

"And I have surveillance footage from that and from the earlier parts of the case on here," Angela said from behind her own laptop. "Along with the renderings of the possible murder weapon."

"Foliage and dirt analysis," provided Hodgins, barely looking up as he sorted through a stack of documents.

"Alright, and Booth and I have the new evidence from Kaminski's apartment. Let's start at the beginning."

"We were all assigned to the Kaminski investigation on May twenty-ninth," Shaw supplied. "I was there first. The body was on the floor of the apartment, mostly undressed, with indicators that he had likely had female company."

Brennan was still surprised the young agent had come at all; it had sounded like she was ready to take as much time off as she could from the FBI after her ordeal. But when they had called Sweets, she had immediately volunteered to tag along. Solving this case meant something more to her than it did to the others.

"Which is further backed up by the cause of death being from a stabbing," Sweets continued. "A female killer is more likely to use a knife or poison to achieve her goal than a gun, which is favored by male killers."

"The only wounds I found initially were fractures consistent with being punched in the face and falling on his wrist. These likely premeditated the actual stabbing, although there is no way to be sure. Surprise or an inability to fight back meant there were very little signs of defensive wounds outside of slight, new fractures to the knuckles," Brennan said, reciting more from memory than the FBI's copies of her reports.

"My analysis showed that there had also been a blow to the back of the head," Wendell continued, "Which most likely caused the victim to fall to the floor and fracture his wrist. He was facing upward when the assailant stabbed him three times; the third blow severed an artery and causing exsanguination."

"And then he was eaten by his neighbor's cats," Booth remembered with a grimace.

"Stomach contents showed alcohol, snack mix, and nachos—consistent with what Kaminski would have been eating if he were at the club," Cam said, nodding to herself as she read from her own report, the memories coming back.

"There was no sign of anything else in his system, so he wasn't drugged or poisoned. The alcohol was his only impairment," Hodgins continued, reading over her shoulder.

"You found that note in his pocket," Angela remembered.

"But we didn't get it figured out for a while," Booth reminded. "First, there were interviews." He reached for a napkin and a pen and started to write out a list of names. "People we know Kaminski slept with…" he muttered. Brennan watched over his shoulder.

_Anna Pollack_

_ Selena Sabella _

_ Liz Parish_

_ Tania Henson_

_ Taylor Madison_

_ Margo Harish (cat lady)_

"There was the video of Kaminski's hallway," Angela was saying, pulling it up on her screen. The others grouped around behind her, re-watching the now-familiar footage. Booth came around as well, writing out the times and the names of the visitors to Kaminski's apartment.

_Liz Parish (12:06-5:12)_

_ Tania Henson (7:01-7:13)_

_ Taylor Madison (8:57-9:34)_

_? (9:55-9:56)_

"Isn't this already written down somewhere?" Sweets observed, tilting his head as he watched Booth writing.

The agent shrugged. "We weren't getting anywhere with the other format… the sooner we put this all side-by-side and simplify it, we might see something new."

"Makes sense," Wendell agreed. He reached across the table to pick up the list that Sweets had obtained from their latest search, along with the one that Brennan had written out from memory. He set them next to Booth's new lists.

"Aren't we sure that our mystery figure was Shadwick?" Angela pointed out, tapping the list with a slender finger. "My program matched their faces with ninety-eight percent accuracy."

"Right." Booth made a note.

"You and I went to the clubs to show some of the pictures," Brennan pointed out to him. "The night after Angela sorted through the surveillance footage." Neither of them mentioned the tense atmosphere between them, or the one-sided fight they had had after returning to Booth's apartment. It felt like forever ago that they had been trapped in that state of confusion.

"Dominion, Club Glow, and Blue Fish," Shaw listed the names quietly, drawing Brennan's attention back to their task.

"Yes. And after that I contacted Agent Culver."

"Who was not invited to this little party," Sweets noted with a raised eyebrow.

Booth and Brennan shared a glance. It hadn't been intentional. They had just… forgotten.

"We put surveillance on Blue Fish," Booth said finally, getting back on track. "And Taylor agreed to speak with us about what she knew."

"I've got that in here…" Sweets said, sifting through a file and extracting a packet of information. "Here; this is a transcript of the conversation she had with Agent Culver."

Brennan leaned forward to read along with the others.

_RC: When did you start working for the Blue Fish club?_

_ TM: About two years ago. I needed a job and my sister was working there. _

_ RC: Does your sister still work there?_

_ TM: No, she died a little over a year ago. Suicide._

_ RC: I'm very sorry. When did you first suspect that there was illegal activity in Blue Fish?_

_ TM: From the very beginning. My sister knew about it, too, but neither of us could do anything about it. We just needed the money._

_ RC: Who controls the operation?_

_ TM: I don't know; none of us know. _

_ RC: Who controls the shipments when they come into your club?_

_ TM: Shadwick. But he's always on the phone. And he's no genius._

_ RC: Can you provide me with names of others who are directly involved with the operation?_

_ TM: I don't know if I should._

_ RC: As Agent Booth promised, we will keep you safe. No one knows you are here. The more you tell us, the more likely we will be able to help you._

_ TM: Alright. I'll tell you as much as I know._

Attached was a list of names written in female handwriting with shaky lettering.

_Dale Richards_

_ Eduardo Jimenez_

_ Juan Ortiz_

_ Reggie Morton_

"I know some of those names," Brennan said, eyes widening.

"What?" Booth and Sweets asked together.

"Those names… they were on the list I found. The one that was taken from me."

"All of them?"

"I think so," Brennan said slowly, nodding as she scanned through the names again. "They're all familiar."

"What does that mean?" Angela asked, glancing from face-to-face, searching for answers.

"Well, it means _something_," Booth muttered, shaking his head slowly.

"Alright, well after you spoke to Taylor… the next thing that happened was the lab raid, right?" Wendell put in.

"July second," Brennan supplied, remembering far too well. The day would be engrained in her memory forever. Every second of it.

Booth was frowning, staring pointedly at the lists in front of him.

"What is it?" she asked curiously.

"Kaminski was killed on May twenty-ninth. That same night, Shadwick went to the scene to steal the laptop… something the killer didn't do. And then it takes four days before they sweep in to take away all our evidence? Something doesn't add up."

Sweets was frowning, too. "Maybe they needed the time for tactical planning?"

"Or maybe they were waiting to see how far we'd get," Booth muttered, digging through the pages again and pulling out a sheet. Brennan recognized it as the one she had filed with the FBI directly after the raid. It was a list of the things the criminals had stolen.

"What if we had something that we didn't know we had?" Angela hypothesized.

"That's a theory," Booth acknowledged. "Or maybe they suspected that someone had talked to us…"

"You think they were on to Taylor that far back?"

He shook his head. "No… but they could have suspected that _somebody_ had talked."

"They wanted to see if we had anything that would tell them _who_," Shaw suggested, drawing everyone's attention.

"We didn't have anything at the lab that would give Taylor away. So she was safe for a while longer, until Shaw uncovered the information on Shadwick's phone and revealed that they were planning to do something about her," Sweets pointed out.

"And then we put her in the safe house," Booth finished. "Where they couldn't get to her."

"So then someone in their organization kept tabs on us and came after Brennan when her and Sweets started searching the apartment," Wendell added. "And they took that list."

"The list that was an awful lot like the one Taylor gave to the FBI," Angela said slowly, raising an eyebrow.

Booth picked it up, reading the names off again. Nothing seemed odd and nothing jumped out at any of them.

"Do you remember _any_ of the other names?" he asked, turning to Brennan.

She grimaced apologetically. "Taylor was on it, and another woman… but no, I can't name them from memory alone. I might recognize them if they were put in front of me like the others, though."

"Alright, so if most of the names coincide with this list… maybe Kaminski was listing the people he suspected were involved in the smuggling operation."

"But Taylor was on the list, and she gave up those other names," Sweets argued.

"Then he must have suspected her," Angela reasoned.

There was a pause, and then both Booth and Sweets dug for the second list, coming up with it and reading the names aloud. "Katie Meyers, Celia Richards, Maya Rivera, Julia Turner, Nina Hearst, Taylor Madison, Rosalinda Harris."

"That was the other woman's name on the list," Brennan said. "I'm sure of it. Rosalinda Harris."

"It's not crossed off," Sweets noted, tilting his head.

"So… if this list is of waitresses at the club… it's not a list of conquests," Angela said.

"No," Sweets said with a shake of his head. "It's not. This… is a list of women that Kaminski was clearing of suspicion. The club workers… the ones who were there but not necessarily involved."

"He was looking for a possible informant," Shaw breathed with sudden realization.

"Taylor didn't tell him anything, though."

"But somebody else on that list, somebody whose name is crossed off… might have spoken to their bosses. Told them what Kaminski was up to, if he said the wrong thing to them and gave away his intentions," Booth pointed out grimly.

"That could be what got him killed," Cam agreed.

"Bones?" Booth questioned her, noting that she had gone quiet. She was looking over the transcript of Taylor and Culver's conversation again, her brows creased together.

"I want to look into something," she told him. "Keep… keep going on this. I'll be in my study."

"Alright," he said slowly, curiosity in his expression.

She turned and left them to their theories, the paper clutched in her hand and a theory of her own spinning itself to life in her head.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth watched her disappear from the kitchen, heading for the stairs, and wondered what it was that she had seen to make her go off on her own investigation. She would tell him when she was ready, though, and he focused back on the group effort. For the first time, it felt like they were making genuine progress. Maybe this was what they had needed all along; a cohesive session of teamwork, with no distractions, away from the lab.

"So we're looking at Maya Rivera, Katie Meyers, and Julia Turner specifically," Wendell was saying, holding up the list.

"I'm looking them up now…" Angela murmured, tapping furiously on her laptop.

"I'll check my notes," Shaw supplied, her own laptop open in front of her. "I don't remember anything suspicious about them, but my notes have more than my memory could possibly keep up with."

"Katie and Maya are young," Angela murmured, shaking her head. "They can't be older than twenty, either of them…"

Shaw was nodding. "I remember that. Katie… here it is… Katie is trying to pay her way through college after her parents died in a car crash overseas. Maya is fresh out of foster care."

Booth pushed himself to not focus too hard on that last part. "What about Julia?"

"She's older… in her mid-to-late twenties. I didn't talk to her much; she kept mostly to herself."

"Alright, so she's a better bet than the younger ones."

"Yes. I doubt Katie or Maya even knew what was going on in the club. And if they did, then they were keeping as quiet as possible. I can't see them talking to Kaminski for any reason."

Angela was nodding, typing again.

"So if this Julia really did turn Kaminski in to the higher ups… then who committed the murder?" Cam asked. "We know it wasn't Shadwick or on his orders, because of the laptop. And can I eat the rest of this Lo Mein, or is Brennan coming back for it?"

"I don't think she'll mind," Booth said distractedly, frowning to himself. Who did commit the murder? They knew it was a woman; probably the same woman that had come after Brennan in the apartment. Could it be this Julia? Or was it someone else, that they hadn't even looked at yet? It still didn't make any sense.

"Why wouldn't she take the laptop?" he muttered under his breath, staring blankly at the evidence piled up in front of him. Why leave something like that behind, when the whole point of killing Kaminski was to prevent him from interrupting their drug trafficking operation?

The only reason he could come up with, the only thing that made any sense at all… was that the killer hadn't been involved in the operation at all.

But then why take that list from Brennan?

He dug it out and looked at it again, searching for the missing piece, the one thing that he wasn't seeing.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Brennan settled into her desk, turning on her laptop and signing into her account. She pulled up a search database from the FBI and put in her credentials and security clearance, watching as it scanned briefly and then let her through.

Taylor's sister had committed suicide. But she had also worked for the club that was running this high-scale drug operation. And unless Dr. Brennan was confident it was a suicide… it might not necessarily _be_ a suicide.

She pulled up the file, and scanned through the photo documentation of the body, reading the coroner's report thoroughly and focusing on the enlarged images of the wounds to the victim's wrists.

Found in a bathtub. Dead on arrival.

There was nothing, and Brennan slumped back in her seat, defeated. She had hoped to find some signs of a struggle, but there was nothing to suggest that Cara Madison had fought back… there were no marks on her body at all, outside of the fatal slices to her wrists. No bruising to the knuckles or marking on the neck or shoulders to suggest she was held down. Every sign seemed to agree with the coroner's decision.

Suicide, plain and simple. Open and shut case.

Maybe that was how this case was doomed to go; maybe they were never going to find the answers they were looking for. Maybe this was going to be that one case, like Booth talked about. The case that they couldn't solve; the one that haunted them for the rest of their lives after it went cold.

She closed her eyes. She had never wanted to find that case. She had wanted them all to be solvable, for each and every one to come to a clean ending with answers for the family and justice for the lost.

It had been over four months, though.

Perhaps it was time to admit defeat.

She clicked backwards in the file, and landed on a screen with a reference photo of the victim. The image was cropped to show just her face, and for a moment Brennan just looked at it. And then she sat straight upright, clarity shooting through her.

She knew who the killer was.

**Well? Do YOU know who the killer is? And look at that! In the time that I've been away they've updated some stuff. I do believe that is a review box right there. Why don't you go ahead and give it a click and say something like 'wow, you're alive!' or 'you better update again before Christmas, you jerk!' (Honestly, I'll love anything you have to say. Just tell me you're out there and you still want to know how this all ends, and you will make my day.)**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I'll try to keep this brief, and leave a longer note at the end. I just want to say that this chapter is the end of what may well be my final Bones fanfiction on this site. For those of you who will not read the end note, I want you to know that this ending was my intention from the very beginning; this was always how I intended to close out this story.**_  
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**Please enjoy, and if you have never left me your thoughts... please do so just this once. Because if you choose not to follow me over to the Castle fandom (badge-and-pen is my username), this may be your last chance. Thank you all so much for reading.  
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_Chapter 23_

_October 31__st__, 2011_

Neither Booth nor Brennan was present during the arrest. When they awoke together, tangled in each others' arms in their master bedroom upstairs, it was the morning of Halloween and a simple email they had both received informed them that their suspect was in custody, awaiting questioning.

There was no argument; they were both attending the interrogation.

After Brennan's revelation, Booth and the others had put together the rest of the puzzle. One by one, things began to fall into place. It all made sense, when looked at from afar, and he almost couldn't believe he had missed the connection.

Brennan would have, too, though. If not for that one photo.

They stood together in the observation room, arms crossed, legs slightly spread. He couldn't tell if she was copying his posture, or if they just both naturally fell into these positions. Probably the latter, with the number of interrogations they had both attended over the years. They were due for some sort of free prize, he thought after a pause. Attend one hundred interrogations, receive a toaster.

Something to that effect.

"Ready?" he asked calmly.

She nodded; stone-faced, eyes blazing with determination. _They were finally closing this case_.

"I'm more ready for this than for tonight," she said quietly, and the ghost of a humored smile flitted across his lips. He put his hand on her lower back, and guided the both of them out the door.

They stepped into the interrogation room.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"You're sure you invited everyone?" Angela demanded, poking a finger at her husband.

"Yes! Everyone will be here!" he promised, raising his hands in trepidation. "Relax, Angie."

"This party… is the start of a tradition. It needs to be perfect. This is our first out-of-the-office Halloween party. It sets the tone for Thanksgiving, and Christmas…"

"I thought Booth and Brennan were hosting Thanksgiving this year?"

Angela pursed her lips. "Well, yes. But we won't get another shot at Halloween until 2013."

"Right. It has to be _perfect_," Hodgins agreed. She sensed the sarcasm and narrowed her eyes.

"Go hang cobwebs," she told him, shoving his shoulder. He bent in for a kiss, and she smiled into it, accepting it as a reasonable apology.

Michael cooed in his highchair, and she smiled easily, bending down and kissing the top of his head. He babbled slightly, large eyes staring up and tiny smile tilting on his face.

"You are going to be the cutest pumpkin anyone has ever seen," she told him, and he giggled. He liked the word pumpkin; a recent discovery Jack had made.

She and Jack were attending as characters from one of her old favorite television shows from the '90s, and she was fully prepared to paint some veins on her face to go with the black contact lenses and wig. Hodgins had refused to wear one, and honestly looked more like a reverend than any specific character. Booth and Brennan had failed to prepare costumes, which was just typical at this point, and Angela had been forced to improvise them into other characters from the fandom. Themed costumes had been on her bucket list, and it wasn't as if she was going to miss the opportunity. Once she streaked some blue into Brennan's hair and got her into the body-armor-like-outfit she would stand out—that had been a fight to convince her into, but Angela always got what she wanted, in the end—but Booth was just a lost cause. She gave him some fangs, told him to wear a trench coat, and hoped for the best. Hodgins claimed he saw a resemblance, but she just wasn't seeing it. Maybe if he had died his hair blonde he could have pulled off one of the other characters, but he had been very strongly opposed to that idea.

No matter the costumes, though; what really mattered about tonight was that it was memorable. After the past four months of chaos and near-death, with this case haunting them every day, it was about time they relaxed and celebrated. They had done it, after all. They had succeeded at the seemingly impossible.

All that was left to be done was the closing measures which Booth and Brennan were working on right now. Booth had told them all that it was more likely they'd be cutting a deal than going to trial. Either way, their portion of the investigation was done. They had caught the killer, and Shaw was out from undercover for good. The rest of this case, and everything involving the drug trafficking organization, would be passed off to the proper department.

They were finally done, and she was determined to clean all their hands of this case.

"Jack, do you think we picked up enough wine?" she called to the other room.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

There was a knock at the door, and Sweets sat upright, turning his head towards the sound in surprise. He had just gotten pizza; he wasn't expecting any other intrusions tonight. He set down his piece of pepperoni, dropping a few magazines on top of the box to disguise the fact he was eating an entire pizza by himself.

He hadn't left the apartment since returning from Booth and Brennan's the night before. The arrest had been made, and he was satisfied. He had taken a week off from the office, and felt rather positive about it, despite the rather lonely start—what with the pizza and the Saved By the Bell reruns and the pajama pants he had been sporting all morning.

Shaw was on the other side of his door, and he stepped back, doing a double-take. Before Booth had called him, the two of them had been sitting and having a very civil conversation about spending some time apart from each other, to recover from this case and figure out where they stood. He'd had very limited hopes about where they might end up eventually, and he hadn't planned on making any final judgments, as far as their non-existent relationship went, for at least another few months.

Yet, here she was.

"I changed my mind," she said in a rush, dropping a bag on the threshold and pressing forward to kiss him. He stepped back as they collided, arms automatically reaching up to wrap around her.

When she pulled back she smiled at him breathlessly. "Can we make this work?" she asked tentatively, her face only inches from his. Her nose brushed his. He nodded, still catching his breath.

"Yeah, we can make this work," he said definitively.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The lab seemed deserted, with the rest of the team out. Wendell Bray paced across the platform, listening to the clapping echo of his footfalls on the smooth tile. He stopped by his station, reaching out to touch fingertips to the file that sat neatly in the center of his workspace. The fat file folder with the name _Kaminski_ written in smooth sharpie on the tab.

It was really over.

There was a post-it on his computer monitor that told him Naomi from Paleontology was expecting his call. They had been chatting back and forth on-and-off since he had 'borrowed' that machine from downstairs. She had thought it was amusing. They hadn't met outside of work, but he wondered if they might, sometime soon. Perhaps after a few more exchanges of post-its. Perhaps after this phone call.

From the back of his desk he pulled out a thick stack of papers and looked at the sticky note attached to the front of it, just over the rubber band that held it all together.

_You will make a wonderful addition to the anthropologists in our community, Mr. Bray. _

It was signed Doctor Brennan.

It was his dissertation.

_Determination of Velocity and Impact Force of Bullets from Long Range. _

He would be defending it one week from today, something that had been gnawing at him for a long time. This case had allowed him to keep his focus away from the upcoming date.

He snapped the rubber band free, and flipped through the pages, letting the familiar words wash over him. His jaw was set in a firm line, his upper lip stiff. He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing just slightly. His gaze wandered from the smooth lines of text to the framed photograph on his workspace.

He stood in a line with three other interns. To his left were Fisher and Daisy.

To his right stood Vincent Nigel-Murray.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Dr. Camille Saroyan rarely appreciated her job as much as she did on days like this. The daily gruel all made a lot more sense when a case was closed. Four months of waiting, four months of working their asses off and finding no relief, four months of feeling utterly pointless… and finally it had amounted to something.

"I didn't see anything on the news," Michelle commented, poking her head into the kitchen. "But you clearly closed that case. What happened?"

Michelle knew her far too well. "It turned out that we were looking the wrong way the entire time," she explained. "There won't be anything on the news; we may have solved the murder, but there's a lot more to the investigation."

"And it's all confidential," Michelle guessed, raising an eyebrow.

Cam shrugged apologetically. "Will some take-out for lunch make your curiosity go away?"

"Probably not. But what _might_ do the trick would be your permission to go to this Halloween party tonight. No alcohol or drugs, I promise."

"You'll call me if you need me to pick you up?" Cam said, pointing a finger firmly. Michelle bobbed her head immediately, eyes lighting up.

"Thank you!" the teenager said, giving her a hug and disappearing back into the other room. Cam sighed and turned her attention back to the dirty dishes in the sink. She had a party to go to tonight, as well. There was some sort of ridiculous vampire-inspired costume that Angela had dropped off for her.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"This is what gave you away," Brennan said, sliding a photograph across the interrogation table. It was the one from her screen the night before, the one of Cara Madison's smiling face.

Taylor glanced at it, her lips set in a hard line.

"Do you want to know why?" Brennan continued. Taylor still said nothing. Brennan tapped the corner of the image. "This image is cropped. There was another person in the picture… someone who was cut out so this picture could be used as a reference in Cara's case file."

Booth placed the other image beside it.

It was a full picture, taken from the frame in Kaminski's apartment. He was the other person in the image, with his arm looped around Cara's shoulders.

Taylor looked away, glaring at the wall to her right.

"Your sister was involved with Nathan Kaminski, about two years ago," Booth explained, although they all knew that Taylor was already aware of that. "We talked to the neighbors. Showed them this picture. They remembered her. And they remembered what happened."

"He broke her heart!" Taylor snapped viciously, biting back tears. Whether they were from anger or pain, Brennan couldn't tell. "They were together for a whole year, and the entire time…" she sniffed, looking away and crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"We know," Booth said calmly. "Your sister got you that job at Blue Fish, and you stayed even after she took her own life. And then you saw Kaminski, coming to that club night after night. Taking home girls, just like he did when your sister was alive. You couldn't handle that."

Taylor said nothing, but her posture and her expression were familiar to Brennan; they conveyed defeat.

"But you knew that Kaminski was looking into the illegal operation running behind the scenes in your club," Booth continued. "And you saw a way to take out two birds with one stone. When Kaminski approached you, to see if you were in on the operation or willing to talk, you went home with him."

"You stabbed him three times, and he bled to death," Brennan filled in. "You went home and disposed of the evidence, leaving the laptop behind because you knew it would incriminate your bosses. Shadwick was merely sent to steal the laptop, knowing that Kaminski was on to them. He must have been shocked when he found the dead body as well.

"The FBI searched your former residence this morning; they found the knife under your floorboards, and the bloody clothing. You involved yourself in our investigation, both for protection and to keep track of our progress. You had a safe house and patrol cars visiting periodically, but you had plenty of leeway to slip out as you pleased. You couldn't risk us making a connection to you, so when Dr. Sweets and I went back to the apartment you realized you didn't know what we would find. So you came to stop us, but you didn't plan well enough. I had already seen that photograph, and Sweets was blocking the door. You took what you could and fled."

The other woman pursed her lips, cutting her eyes towards Booth. Right on cue. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, folding his hands together.

"If you cooperate with Agent Culver's investigation and help take down the drug traffickers, we can offer you protection. The DA is willing to take prison time off the table."

"What does that mean?" Taylor asked, her voice strained and off-pitch. She swiped at her eyes.

"It means that if you give us a written confession for the murder of Nathan Kaminski and then become a witness against your former bosses, you will be placed in Witness Protection in a form of house arrest, indefinitely."

Taylor glanced between the two of them for a moment, and then gave the smallest of nods.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"So it really had nothing to do with the drug trafficking," Angela said with a shake of her head. Booth blinked, still getting used to her costume. He had no idea where she had found the black contacts, but they were disconcerting. As were the dark veins she'd drawn on her face and the short, dark hair. The leather outfit was… interesting.

He was wearing a dark coat and fangs. Angela had tried to drag him off to put make-up on his face, insisting he looked 'wrong,' but he had been very adamant that that was _never_ happening. He didn't even know _what_ he was dressed up as. Or why Angela seemed to be enjoying it so much. Brennan, oddly enough, had no complaints about her outfit. For the most part.

"The markings on this armor are incorrect," she pointed out to Angela. "And technically, I should have contacts similar to yours, to create a more cold, reptilian look."

"Did everyone watch this show but me?" he muttered, taking another large gulp from his wine glass. A plastic eyeball bobbed in it.

Brennan shook her head. "I watched it in recognition of a sub-culture of science fiction cult-television. It's a fascinating phenomenon bases around certain actors and creators. There's a very interesting culmination of factors that create the 'cult' effect around an otherwise mundane—"

Angela punched her in the arm. "It's not mundane, sweetie. We've been over this."

Brennan scowled, and then turned back to Booth. "It was an anthropological study."

"…Right. I still don't get it."

"You don't get what?" Sweets asked, joining them. Booth almost choked on his drink as he laughed.

"When did you get here?" he asked, looking the psychologist up and down. He was wearing round spectacles and a suit. "And what are you supposed to be?"

"What, seriously?" Sweets demanded. "Season three?" Booth gave him a bored look, and the shrink sighed. "Never mind. And Angela provided this, anyways. And Genny's, too." The young FBI Agent was wearing a sparkling sequence dress and spike heels, her hair in waves.

"And this is all from the same… theme thing that Angela picked out?"

"I already explained—" Brennan started, but Booth raised a hand to cut her off. He had to admit, the blue streaks in her hair were fascinating him, no matter how odd the costumes were. She would look stunning in anything, but these accented her already brilliant eyes. And the outfit hugged every curve.

Wendell passed by, blonde hair slicked back and a long black trench coat trailing behind him. Booth snorted. Angela had way too much power over these people.

"So I heard Taylor took the deal," Sweets said, and Booth was grateful for the subject change. For once, he didn't mind talking about the case outside of work. It was over, now. They were discussing success rather than frustration.

"Yes, she did. It wouldn't have made sense for her to refuse," Brennan put in.

"You think we'll get the head of the drug operation."

"I know we won't," Booth said with a shrug. "But Culver might. Not my job anymore."

Sweets sighed. "It's still mine; they want me to continue consulting on the investigation."

Booth clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, keep us in the loop."

The psychologist looked less than thrilled.

"So… her sister killed herself over Kaminski?" Angela asked, dragging them back on focus.

"Right," Booth answered. "She already had some relationship issues and a rather unhappy backstory. Kaminski's betrayal put her into a deep depression."

Angela shook her head. "Not to speak ill of the dead… but that guy was a jackass."

"He was," Booth agreed, not arguing the point, "But he did try to single-handedly take down a drug ring. That might make him stupid, but at least there was some good in him."

Angela shrugged her agreement. "It feels like she got away with it, though, doesn't it?"

Brennan's expression had darkened.

"Not entirely," Booth said, looking more at her as he said it than at Angela. "She'll be living under constant supervision, and risking her life to testify against the traffickers that she used to work with. In a lot of ways… she's being forced to finish what Kaminski started."

"Kind of poetic," Hodgins said, having just joined their group.

The others nodded solemnly.

"Enough of this talk!" Angela burst out. "It's Halloween; we're going to party properly! Cam! Wendell! Come on, let's go do something cheesy and completely non-work-related… like charades."

"Or shots," Cam suggested pointedly. "Not all of us are old and married, you know," she teased. She was wearing an afro wig and a coat similar to Wendell's and looking highly uncomfortable. Booth decided he wasn't going to ask Angela where she had gotten all of these things.

Angela sighed. "Fine, you can include shots. I'll stick to the sober train with Brennan. _Somebody_ has to keep an eye on Michael tonight." She turned to Brennan and added conspiratorially, "Sometime after your little junior arrives, you and me are going to take a night for ourselves and leave our men with the kids."

Brennan laughed. "You know, I think I can agree to that plan."

Booth leaned in to kiss her. Michael clapped his hands in his pumpkin outfit a few feet away, bubbling with laughter, and Booth imagined their daughter, one year from today, clapping her perfect little hands and wearing something equally as adorable—maybe a ladybug costume like had caught Brennan looking at in the store.

He kissed her again, and she laughed against his lips as he pulled her to him.

They had survived. Their family was whole, and he had Bones, now. Forever.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_June 15__th__, 2012_

_His name was Anthony Ridley. He wore a faded green jumpsuit and an orange hardhat and carried a black bag slung over his shoulder. He showed his badge to the doorman and was directed towards the elevator and handed a set of keys._

_ The building had a problem with the water tank on the roof. Apparently. The elevator let him off on the top floor, and he let himself through the door that he found directly ahead with the key he had been given. _

_ Fake stones moved slightly underfoot as he crossed the distance to the edge of the roof. He set down his black bag, and raised a hand to shield his eyes. He took off his spectacles and shoved them in the front pocket of the jumpsuit. There it was: fifteen degrees southwest. _

_ Unzipping the black bag, he extracted the binoculars that sat on top and adjusted them, dropping to one knee and focusing on his target. It was a quiet little house in a quiet little neighborhood. A fence surrounded the back yard, and it was still in the process of being painted. He could see a tree house in progress, and a new pool. The house was not new, but it was a recent purchase. He remembered that from his research._

_ Yesterday's newspaper headline had read 'Key Witness in Delgado Drug Trafficking Trial Killed.' He already knew what tomorrow's headline would read. Or, at least… he had a couple of very good guesses._

_ He enjoyed his job. It was a new experience every day. A new challenge. _

_ Anthony Ridley had a large snake tattoo coming up the side of his neck and onto his face, by his ear. He had thick bushy eyebrows and a mustache. He was a menial worker who tipped his hat when people said hello but wasn't easy about giving away a smile. He had a small family and a plump wife who liked to bake in the early morning hours. His parents had divorced when he was three, and his mother had raised him._

_ Anthony Ridley was a normal man. _

_ He extracted his tools from the black bag, assembling his sniper rifle with calm ease. He took his time, feeling the cool weight of the metal in his hands. _

_ He was not Anthony Ridley._

_ It would have been easy for him to set up in a rush and get this done with, but he knew that he had some time to burn. The job was demanding; sometimes he could spend hours simply waiting, watching through the scope for the right moment._

_ If there was one thing he hated, it was being rushed. That was the problem with America… everyone was so caught up with what time it was. Rushing to appointments, counting the minutes and the seconds. No, he savored every heartbeat and allowed it to take its own time. _

_ All things in due course._

_ He dumped out the remaining contents of his bag, and stuffed the orange hat away in it, spreading himself out on the roof and beginning the artful process of disguise. The leaf blanket he draped over himself was a particular favorite of his. It blended in well in any location, and disguised his shape so as to not be recognized as a human being with a gun. He had created it himself. _

_ It was one of his most prized possessions. _

_ When the scope was lined up he hummed lightly to himself, noting the wind and the location of the sun in the sky. Just past noon. His timing should be pretty close… he had taken careful note when doing his observations this morning. _

_ He was never wrong._

_ First came the small red car, with the blonde woman and the little boy with his curly hair. When they stepped out of the vehicle, the front door opened and the owner's stepped out. The brunette was the renowned doctor of anthropology, the man with her was her FBI Agent fiancé. The engagement had landed in the same neighborhood as one of his appointments a few weeks prior. _

_ How sweet._

_ She carried the small bundle in her arms. He had seen that announcement as well, a little over a month ago. A little girl, wrapped in a pastel green blanket. The anthropologist had issues with the oppression of gender conventions. _

_ This was his favorite part. Watching the everyday. 'Playing God,' one might call it. The decisions rested in his hands. His finger stroked the trigger. _

_ He had always enjoyed his job._

_ The blonde was leaving, and the family, now with the addition of the little boy, disappeared inside. _

_ Next would be the rich entomologist and his artist wife. When they arrived, the group moved outside and sat in lawn chairs. The baby stayed in the anthropologist's arms, but the older child, the one that belonged to the new arrivals, toddled around in the grass, pushing a little red fire truck as his parents looked on. _

_ They all stood when the psychologist and his pregnant FBI girlfriend made their arrival. He hovered on the shrink's face, watching the changes in expression. _

_ There was a reason he was here today._

_ His employer was not much with details beyond a name and an address, but he always enjoyed filling in the backstory before completing a job. And because he _always_ completed his jobs, none of his clients were ever dissatisfied with his methods and quirks. _

_ There was a trial going on, and there were some people testifying. The shrink was on that list, along with the young FBI agent and the one engaged to the anthropologist. There was another of note, and as he watched the SUV pulled up to the curb. Yet another, albeit older, FBI Agent. He didn't seem interested in staying, and he frowned in disappointment. He needed them all together. That was what he had envisioned for this job. It simply wasn't satisfying if they didn't come in a pack._

_ Of course, he did only need the one of them for payment._

_ He focused back on the scene._

_ The agent was telling them the details of the Taylor Madison murder. He didn't need to be able to read lips to know that. The homeowner was setting up a grill… and the older agent accepted the chair that the entomologist brought over for him._

_ He nodded to himself. Excellent._

_ A few more arrivals… the coroner, who was also a key player in the trial, and the new anthropologist who had accepted a full time position with the others at the lab. _

_ He wasn't quite sure of the holiday they were entertaining this evening. He had known that it was scheduled; it was the reason he was here, now; but he had not learned the purpose. Just a get-together, he supposed. It was summer… people felt the need to cook things outdoors and sit in their lawns._

_ He would never understand them._

_ As much as he preferred to keep time out of his equation, he was aware that he didn't have forever on this rooftop. It could only take so long to fix the imaginary problem with the water tank. Taking a calming breath, he smiled and gave himself a few moments to drink in the scene. The setting for his latest piece. It would be splashed across the papers by morning._

_ He hovered over his target, watching the smiles, the conversation. He waited, letting his heartbeat slow to a muted thrum. His finger ran along the trigger, curling smoothly around it and finding the familiar groove. As natural as holding a pencil. Maybe more so._

_ His target stood, to get themselves their own burger, perhaps. It didn't matter._

_ His heart gave a slow, easy beat, and he pulled the trigger. _

_**Fin.**_

**And here comes the long note that I promised at the start. First off, a huge thank you to all the wonderful people who have read this story. That means you! I am just so grateful to have people out there who are actually interested in my writing, who don't turn away after the first chapter and stick with me all the way until the conclusion.**

**As I said at the beginning, that ending was in my plans from the very beginning. It wasn't something I thought up on the spot; it was in the drafting process from May of 2010.  
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**Secondly, I want to say that it has been absolutely wonderful being a part of the Bones fandom on this site for the past three and a half years. I have never come across such wonderful, enthusiastic, kind people on the internet as I have found in this place. I wish I were not leaving, but the show holds no joy for me anymore. **

**If you are a Castle fan (and you should be-it is a brilliant, witty creation that plays through character chemistry while maintaining fascinating cases. If you have loved Bones as I have, then you should check it out. When I first found Castle, I was a vehement fan of both series, and found them both wonderfully unique and yet connected in their character chemistry. And for goodness sake, I am _not_ comparing the two in a negative way. I'm saying that you should check out Castle if you love Bones in the same way that you should check out Buffy the Vampire Slayer if you love Firefly! Which you should also do, by the way. Great shows, both of them.) then I hope you will take a moment to give my new Castle story a look. I am going by the name** **badge-and-pen****.****  
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**Why am I no longer writing Bones fanfiction? Excellent question. If you don't want to hear my opinions (and I don't blame you, as I myself read a long essay on another reader's reasons for leaving the fandom a few years ago and immediately regretted it) then please, just don't read the note. Only read if you actually care about why I am leaving. You can find it on my profile, as it is better suited there than here.  
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**Thanks again to all of you.  
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**Farewell!  
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